#but we DID imprison him in a shell of darkness that he probably won’t be able to escape from for another millennia or so 😋

[hopelessromantic-ghost]

that’s my mans 🥰💖

[beels-burger-babe]

D&D Story Time

@bloopthebat you may be interested in this

So ya'll know how I play D&D? While I had a crazy fucking session tonight, and my roommate is unavailable to rant to, so you guys get to hear it.

I've talked about the Three Cleric Campaign that I'm a part of before. There are three of us, we all play clerics, in a world where gods mostly live amongst us and are our political system as well.

I play Riona, an aasimar order cleric who follows Islina, sun goddess and queen of the pantheon. She's our party's healer

Then there's Taman (Riona's perfect opposite). A human raised by elves, a light cleric who follows the Moon God, a god who has been missing for centuries and is believed to be behind the dark corruption that is slowly killing the world (we only found that out post start of the campaign). He's utilities.

And finally, Thassa. A princess teifling of the Mother of Monsters who is a tempest cleric that follows the sea god Cashoctik (who is neutral in most of the wars that have happened in the lore). She's combat/tank.

ANYWAY! We're in the Mother of Monster's (a demi god) domain on a mission from the Father of Gods to kill her and bring her soul to him to help release him from his prison so that he can save the world from the corruption.

Rather than just go in guns blazing, we know the Mother to be very protective of her children (literally any monster race) and generally quite civil. We go to her, we explain the situation, she's like "Right. You are not the first the Father has sent to do this, and you probably won't be the last. I will let you kill me. But only if you can beat my Champions in battle. Consider it a test of sorts." So for the past few sessions, we've been doing combat and role play in this colosseum against the champions of each of the six children of the Mother: Goblinoids, Yaun-ti, Beast-Men, Orcs, Hags, and finally Demons. (Our DM homebrews a lot of stuff in the best way, so the lore for these races has been changed).

Tonight was our Hag fight and OH FUCKING BOY

All of us were already worried because we've fought hags before. They fuck with your head, and we've all had some recent trauma.

Riona especially.

For context, Riona is currently on the run from her temple (for whom she is seen as the "Marked of Islina", was practically raised by the goddess herself, and is officially a Mother (similar to a nun) of the temple and is the "Head Mother" of the entire orphanage and children care sector). She's been thrown curve ball after curve ball, being told that her goddess committed multiple massacres, imprisoned people, and is overall not always the best person. But then also told that most of those things she did were either with good intention or just cause and was also shown a number of really incredible and compassionate things she's done. So in terms of faith, it's wobbly. Not to mention, she hasn't actually heard from Islina in MONTHS, found out the artifact that her goddess gifted her was a tool for the temple's Cardinals to spy and track her, and that she HAS BEEN LIED TO HER ENTIRE LIFE AND APPARENTLY HAS DIED AND BEEN REINCARNATED SEVERAL TIMES THROUGHOUT HISTORY!

OH YEAH! AND THE LAST TIME SHE SAW THESE HAGS? THEY HAD ONE OF HER PAST LIVES FUCKING TAXIDERMIED IN THEIR OFFICE!!!

*clears throat* So Riona is having a great time.

So we're fighting three hags, and Taman (as usual) nearly dies several times, Riona and Thassa barely have a scratch on them. We kill the first one pretty early in the fight. Riona had to fight the undead corpse of her past life (yay necromancy) due to one of the hags, which was traumatic in its own right since looking in its eyes gave her flashbacks to its memories of its life and its death (which was in the very colosseum we were fighting in). Killed the hag that caused that.

But then there's the last hag. She casts Anti-Gravity, and everything goes to shit.

I won't go into fine details, but basically, since Riona can fly, she wasn't really affected by the spell, so with Taman and Thassa clinging to her leg, she's shooting arrow after arrow at this hag (I got like three nat 20s) and the hag summons this beast thing above us made of wood and bones from the other hags and the remains of Past Life!Riona. Monster thingy grabs Taman and Thassa. Thassa kills the monster thing. Riona grabs the two of them and then kills the hag.

But then Anti-Gravity drops as a result.

Ri (Riona) has everyone pretty sturdily in her arms, so it should be okay. Right?

Wrong.

The branches and sharps pieces of bone and rubble from the monster that had been above us start falling and we're still 90ft in the air held up only by Riona.

Ri fails a dex check to make us all dodge, and I ask the DM if Ri can move her wings so that she takes the brunt of the damage.

DM says if she takes more than 20 damage, she drops Taman and Thassa, and we continue with our house rule of if Riona takes more than 10 damage in one hit to her wings, they're broken until someone heals them.

Riona takes 18 damage.

We're falling. Riona is screaming in pain. Thassa trying to adjust Taman so he won't take any damage if we do fall to our deaths, and Taman is casting guidance on Thassa.

With a 25DC Dex save, with shattered wings, Riona forces herself to push through the pain and catch enough wind under them to slow us down.

Taman casts Cure Wounds on Riona. (The DM describes his magic to be silver with these ghost-like hands that grab, mend, or tear at things depending on the spell. In this case, mid-flight, they were re-setting and mending Riona's wings. The feeling is excruciating and feels wrong as Taman's temple is opposite/enemies with Riona's).

Riona slowly brings them all to the ground.

Just in time to see her Past Life's skull plummet to the ground and with its empty eyes staring into hers, split and shatter.

Riona turned and hid her face in Thassa's shoulder, Thassa pulled Taman into a group hug, and we all stood there, ignoring the audience booing at their champion's defeat, clinging onto each other as we tried to process what we had just gone through.

Deeply traumatized, we're lead to our waiting room to heal and plan before our last fight against the Demon King, the original Demon.

Riona is shell-shocked and finally breaks from just everything she's been put through with her temple and her goddess and this. She's shaking, she's crying silent tears and can't fully bring herself to talk. Taman lays down near where she's sitting, pats her leg and sleepily tries to comfort her. Thassa, after dealing with some of her own shit that went down, grabbed a bowl, sat behind Riona, and gently hummed to her as she wiped down Ri's wings and helped ground her.

This was the closest, most family-like moment our party has ever had.

By my own choice for role play, Riona will not be able to fly for the rest of the day, and from here on out will have to do a Wis save before flying to see if she can actually push herself to do it again.

She's traumatized as fuck and I have no idea what's gonna happen now.

[weeb-stomper]

Won’t be Without You

Villain Deku x Fem!Hero!Reader

A/N: Hello! This is my first fan fiction that I’ve written. It’s completely unedited, so I’m sorry for any spelling/grammatical errors. Feel free to message me with suggestions and corrections, I appreciate any input you’d take the time to offer! 

Warnings: Kidnapping, imprisonment, violence against reader, language

-------------------------

     A dizzying sense of nausea crashed over you like a wave from the ocean, stirring you from unconsciousness. A dull, throbbing pain in your head made itself fully known as your head rolled forward, chin resting heavily against your chest. You tried and failed to bring your hands to your face, only then realizing that they were bound tightly behind you. Jerking your head upright, you tried again to tug your hands free. Horror swept through your mind, and an attempt to kick out with your legs confirmed that they were also well-bound to the seat you sat in. The scratchy and rough material peeled away at your skin as you struggled, a slick, wet feeling rolling down your hands and collecting on your fingertips before falling to the cracked pavement floor. The disgusting, rhythmic dripping of what could only be your own blood pounded in your ears over and over again like a drum, causing you to double down and fight harder against the restraints.

    Small whimpers and yelps left your mouth as you thrashed in a desperate attempt to free yourself for what felt like hours, only stilling when you had long since used the reserves of your strength. Only now, huffing out ragged breaths and sweat rolling down the slope of your neck, did you stop to look around the makeshift prison cell. The room was dark, a small window set high into the wall acting as the only source of light. Sounds of zooming cars could be heard faintly every once in a while, their headlights pouring into the room and bathing it with artificial yellow light before abandoning to the pitch-blackness once more. In the moments of illumination you could see the bland, red-brick walls of the oppressive room, the shapes of the barrels and crates surrounding you revealed by the streaking lights. The sound of a far-away door clicking open stopped your inspection in its tracks.

     Your head shot towards the noise, panic washing through your mind, and you could see light pouring into the room from the top of a set of stairs about 15 feet to your right. Trembling, Y/N hung your head once more and clenched your eyes shut in a poor attempt to pass as unconscious. The sounds of two distinct sets of footsteps filled the room. They approached your bound figure at a steady and consistent pace, one coming to stop directly behind you while the other took up post in front of you. A rough, calloused hand slid across your shoulder, and you couldn’t stop the resulting shudder. The ensuing chuckle was far too familiar. You jerked away from the sound, tucking your head forward against your chest in a sad attempt to create distance between yourself and Shigaraki as you bucked wildly against your restraints. The thought that those killer hands had touched you, even for a second, almost caused you to pass out right then and there. Tears pooled in your eyes, choked sobs and grunts escaping your throat despite efforts to stuff them down. A much smoother hand gripped your chin, easily yanking it up from its semi-protected position, and you froze completely when your y/e/c eyes met a nostalgic set of striking emerald green ones. Confusion clouded your already overwhelmed mind.

     “...Izuku?”

     A wicked smile twisted your previous classmate’s face as he stared at your grief stricken expression, his hot breath fanning across your sweat-soaked face. 

     “Surprised?” he asked excitedly, his hand sliding up from your chin to rub tears away from under your eyes. “I’m so happy to see you, Y/N. I’ve missed you so much since I went away.”

     Reeling, you took in the sight of your childhood friend. Midoriya was crouched between your knees, easily balancing on his toes as he looked at your face with melancholic adoration. He wore a crisp white dress shirt tucked into creased black slacks, a simple belt with a small silver buckle adorning his waist. A dark green tie hugged his neck, disappearing underneath a pristine black dress vest. The black leather glove on his right hand hid the thick scars that you’d always thought were so beautiful. His wild curls had been cut shorter, revealing a neat undercut on the back of his head. He looked exactly as handsome as he had when he’d disappeared during your freshman year at U.A, almost four years ago.

     “This is where you’ve been this whole time? No one’s seen you in years, Izuku, we thought you were dead!” you spat at him, turning your head to escape the affectionate touch. “Don’t touch me!” you almost screamed. “Do you have any idea what this has been like for us? For your mo-”

     SMACK

     The coppery taste of blood filled your mouth as you sat in stunned silence, your cheek already beginning to swell. Your head swiveled towards Midoriya slowly, as if on a post, and you looked up at him with defiant eyes. He was standing again, teeth bared in a vicious snarl as he bore down on your bound form. The tension in the air ratcheted up to an unbearable level as the stare down continued, not caring about igniting his wrath at this point. You were mad, you were hurt, and there was no way he was going to let you walk away from this either way, so you were going to let him feel the full array of the pain you’d endured during his absence.

     “You’re telling me you ditched Katsuki and I to be a villain and you still hit like a sissy?”

     He bristled at the jab, fists clenching tightly at his sides as he worked to restrain himself.

     “You’d do well not to antagonize me. I’m happy to see you, but not that happy.” he said, voice laced with malice.

     “I’ll do whatever the hell I want!” you screamed. You stilled when a weight settled onto your neck.

     A hand now gripped the base of your neck from behind, one finger missing. Anger and indignation melted into stark terror as Shigaraki leaned in close to your ear, the sound of his sickening laughter biting into your sanity and making your skin crawl. As if to solidify the unspoken threat, the black detachable collar of your hero costume dissolved into ash. Midoriya crouched between your bound legs once more, fixing you with a level stare.

     “I’ll be straightforward. I want you to join the league. Be with me again, like before.”

     Your eyes blew painfully wide, mouth falling open. “You’re joking.”

     “Don’t you remember what those ‘heroes’ did to us? They bullied us, they ignored us, they called you a villain. Kachan humiliated us almost daily and no one batted an eyelash. And now he gets to be the #1 top hero? How is that fair? Why should you dedicate your life to a society that hates you? Join us, you and I can be together again.” His hand snaked up from his side to press against your cheek again, thumb running gently across your bottom lip. “We can be together the way we always wanted.”

     Your nausea returned full-force as his fingers ghosted across your face greedily. What is he talking about? Izuku had been your closest friend. He’d supported you through bullying and family crisis, self-esteem issues, classroom anxiety, and just life in general. In return you’d done the same by answering a seemingly endless stream of phone calls about the most recent heroics from the news or glimpsed on the street or supporting him through a particularly nasty confrontation with Katsuki. But despite your closeness, you’d never been or even wanted to be involved. If he had romantic feelings for you then this was the first you were hearing of it, and it wasn’t good news. Setting that aside, you decide to press this moment of vulnerability, hoping to stir some sense of the golden heart you’d always admired.

     “Zuku, is this really who you want to be?”

     He recoiled from your like you’d struck him, nursing his hand against his chest, and a jolt of fear ran through your icy veins. “Who cares who I wanted to be? I pined for hero society my entire life and they rejected me!” he bellowed, rising to a standing position to pace a few feet in front of the seat. “If they don’t want me the way I wanted to give myself to them then they should at least take responsibility for the person I became instead.”

     You scoffed at the delusional rant, anger boiling lowly behind your y/e/c eyes as you stared up at the shell of your friend. “That’s bullshit and you know it Zuku! We got into U.A, we made it into hero society! Hell, you were a top performer in the hero course! It was all within your reach, and you skipped out to join these guys!” The muscles in your neck twitched with exertion as you worked to remain perfectly still, a lifted finger dancing tauntingly in your peripheral vision. You took a deep breath and lowered your strained voice. “We never stopped looking for you. y’know. You could just come home with me. Walk away from all this right now and I’d never say a word.”

     Calm down. Katsuki’s probably out looking for me right now. I just have to stay calm till he turns up.

     At that, Midoriya stopped pacing. He turned to face you, a pained expression on his face. Striding forward, he waved off Shigaraki. You sagged against the seat in relief. The adrenaline that had pounded through your veins had been burned off, and all it left behind was absolute exhaustion. You were unable to resist when Midoriya ran his fingers through your hair, both of his hands trailing down your jaw to hold your face between his palms. He inclined your head towards him and pity surged through you at the glossy look in his once optimism-soaked eyes.

     “Do you still love me?” he asked in the most pitiful voice you’d ever heard from him.

     You leaned into his gloved palm, nuzzling it weakly. “Of course I do, Zuku. You’re my best friend. But...I just can’t do this for you.”

     He knelt down between your legs again, scooting as close as possible before resting his forehead against yours.

     “Please agree to stay with me. I won’t be without you again.”

     “Come with me instead.” you said, not hiding the desperation in your trembling voice. “You and I are the only ones who know you’ve been here, and I’d never say a word. We could make something up and go back to normal.”

     Midoriya sighed heavily. He stood up, pressing a light kiss to the top of your head before walking towards the door. Shigaraki followed without a word, shooting a vicious smirk over his shoulder.

     “Where are you going?” you asked, panic creeping into your voice as he drew closer to the door.

     “If you won’t agree to stay then I’ll just have to keep you here by force, doll. You’ll come around eventually, but until then you’ll just have to stay right where you are.”

    Completely drained and unable to thrash anymore, you sagged limply in your seat. Darkness enveloped you once more as the door clacked shut, and dread ate at your gut while you prayed for someone, anyone, to save you from the man you’d devoted your life to finding for four agonizing years

[lilulo-12fanfiction]

Rain Song- Prolouge

So I promised myself I wouldn’t start any new stories until I worked on my pre-existing works. But...I just haven’t gotten anywhere with them creatively. I tried doing requests for one shots to spark my writers block and it didn’t work. This, however...came flowing out rather easily. So I’m going with it.

This is my first toe dip into Harry Potter. I’ve had this idea for a really long time. It will probably not follow cannon completely as I am creating an original character. But the bones remain the same.

Here’s the skinny- Sirius Black falls in love with Remus Lupin’s younger sister. Evanora Lupin-Black is a powerful Witch & Seer. (I’m kind of going with my own ideas with Seer mythology based on some HP stuff and some of my own ideas). 

Sirius and Nora have a daughter who Remus Lupin must raise after the death of his sister and the imprisonment of is brother-in-law

Let me know what you think!

You are the sunlight in my growing - So little warmth I’ve felt before 

October 31, 1981 “Remus...Remus you must take her and go! Please!” Evanora begged her big brother to take the sleeping child wrapped in her arms. She looked down at her daughter, the unfairness of the situation was palpable. She knew this was the last time she would see the most perfect thing she had ever done. She had spent the time waiting for her brother staring at a picture of her daughter and her father. She wanted the faces of the two loves of her life to be seared into her brain when the lights went out. 

“What of Sirius?” Remus couldn’t take her. She was safer with Sirius. “She should be with her father.” Remus felt a pang. Sirius had recently been keeping him at arms length. Almost two years ago he trusted Remus with the life of his daughter when he was named as her Godfather. Now...Remus didn’t know what had caused the change. Perhaps the stress of the war. The fear for his family. The fear that Voldemort would take James, Lily and Harry. Fear sowed doubt. But Nora...Nora’s faith in her brother was unwavering. It always had been. Lycanthropy be dammed. Remus knew there had been contention between his sister and his friend because of Sirius’ change in attitude. Yet Remus knew, no matter what, his sister was meant to be with Sirius Black.

 “He’s- I don’t know where he is. Please Remus. They’re coming. I won’t survive this. But she MUST. Please-“ Her voice broke as she choked back a sob. Nora had been preparing for this for months. Filling books with letters and instructions for her daughter. Pulling memories for her to see. Nora quite literally saw it all coming, yet she could say nothing. Nora couldn’t warn her husband. She tried to steer him in the right direction but his stubbornness knew no bounds. And now? Nora knew what would become of him. It broke her heart but she knew this was how it had to be. The conflict on her brothers face almost broke her resolve. She couldn't tell him about what had happened to her husband. Time would reveal all to her brother. It would be a hard road, but it was one he must travel. Her only concern could be for that of her daughter. Her survival was essential. She could only pray that the love and faith she had always instilled in her brother would be enough. He had to be strong now. They all had to be strong.

 “Nora- let me get you both to safety. I cannot leave you behind.”

 “Rem- you must. It is meant to be this way. She must be protected. I cannot follow her where she goes. To keep her safe I must stay behind. Big brother please.” He could never deny his sister. She was only a year younger than he and she had him wrapped around her finger from the moment they were old enough to know they needed each other. Remus didn’t even try to hide his tears. He reluctantly took the now almost toddler from his sister. He knew this was her end. He hated that she wouldn’t tell him more. But she never did. She would never upset the balance. She never messed with fate.

 “Nora- I...I wish we had more time.” He wanted to say so much more, but he could not find the words. 

 “Me too Rem. Tell Sirius that I loved him, until my dying breath. Tell her...”Nora couldn’t hold back her sob. 

“I’ll tell her everything. How beautiful and brave her mother was. How she loved her broken shell of a brother. How she made her father a better man. That he became the very best version of himself because of how much her mother loved him. She will know her mother’s grace and her ferocity. Her loyalness. Her ability to be all others above herself. How she was so wonderfully kind. She will know you Nora.” Nora nodded.

 “Remus. You are not a broken shell of a man. You must remember how wonderful YOU are. She will need you. Be strong for her and for me. There is- there are journals and vials. She’ll need it to learn. Remus he will be back. He will fall, but he will be back.” Remus shifted his niece to one arm and hugged his sister and kissed her forehead. 

 “I love you.”

 “I love you too brother now go!” He rushed out of the house after he threw the bags his sister had packed over his shoulder. He looked back at her one last time, she smiled through the tears in her eyes. She was always smiling. He forced himself to look away and fled. 

Once outside he disapparated from the cottage. When he reached safety, he looked down at his niece. She had slept through the entire dramatic ordeal. She was the only person who his love for rivaled that of his sister. Her dark blonde hair already cursed with the wild curls of her mother. She had Nora’s features; pale and delicate skin, full lips and long lashes. She had her mothers radiating smile that would haunt Remus for the rest of his days. But he knew when she opened her big eyes the stormy grey of his best friend would be looking back at him. She already had Sirius’ proclivity for mischief and his full barky laugh. Her laugh was a sound that Remus could never get enough of. Her innocent looks would get her out of the many corners she would undoubtedly paint herself into. She had the charm of Sirius Black pumping through her veins. 

He knew not of what happened to his best friend, he just hoped that whatever rift was between them could be mended. Remus didn’t know how Sirius would survive the loss of his sister. She had been the one to tame Sirius. While he was always  a prankster, he mellowed for her. He renounced his play boy ways for her. And while he still a shameless flirt, he began to reserve it only for Nora. He knew Sirius was a good man. When Sirius asked him permission to pursue his sister Remus had laughed. It didn’t matter what Remus had to say, it was Nora he had to convince. He gave him his blessing and wished him luck. Watching his best friend and sister fall in love was the honor of his life thus far. Now, Remus would need help to tell Sirius that the love of his life was gone and it was now up to him to protect his special child.

 He really wanted to go to Lily and James but it wasn’t possible with how they were heavily hidden. It gave Remus comfort to know that his niece would grow up loved by not only her father, but Lily and James as well. She would have Harry as a life long friend. He knew his condition would take him away from her and Sirius for stretches of time. James and Lily would help, once it was safe for them to come out of hiding. 

He looked up at the house that would offer himself and the child safety until he could figure things out. It was several stories high, slightly crooked with multiple chimneys. The only other place he could think of that would offer him refuge was The Burrow. 

He will return? Who will return? She had to have been talking of Voldemort. It didn’t make sense to him. Remus was confused. His sister, plagued with sight had painstakingly learned how to hone her gift without the help of an accomplished Seer. It was impressive. Her daughter would carry the same burden, Nora had seen it. Now it would be up to Sirius to find someone to help her, he had no idea who. Most of the Seers he knew were quacks or had a meager amount of talent compared to his sister. Remus wished he could take the power of sight from the child he loved like his own. He recalled the nightmares of Nora’s childhood and the intense headaches that had once plagued his sister. She could often see into a persons memories by touching them. She had pulled away from most until she learned how to shut that off. He didn’t want this for her child. It was different when Nora would be here to guide her. He sighed and walked towards the warm home of the Weasley family. He felt guilty for coming. While he knew the Weasley family supported the cause- they opted out as their children were so young. They had all met Arthur and Molly through Molly’s brothers who were active Order members. 

“Remus?!” Molly had heard the sound of his apparition and had run down the stairs to greet him. “Where is Nora?” She looked wide eyed at the man before her. She looked at the child in his arms. When she looked back up at the man before her, Remus’ body began to shake. Molly, alarmed scooped the little girl from his arms and ushered him into the house. He needn’t tell her what happened, she knew, but she let him speak.

 “I don’t know where Sirius is. But Nora....they came for her. They came for them both. She had me take her and she stayed behind. She said- she couldn’t follow her. If she was to survive she had to stay behind. I should have made her come. Oh God Molly. I left my sister to die.” Remus finally wailed. Molly was silent for a moment. She wanted to cry with him. She couldn’t imagine the wherewithal it took Remus to walk away from his sister. Had it not been for the girl, he would have stayed and died with her.

“She told you to take her because if she knew if she didn’t stay behind they would both be dead. You would be dead. You didn’t allow your sister to die, you’ve given your niece the chance to live.”  

“How am I going to tell Sirius?” Remus saw something pass over Molly’s face but she didn’t not share what she was thinking. There was something beneath the surface but he did not have the strength to ask. 

“Come, come inside. I’ll put the kettle in and we’ll wait. Arthur should be here soon. Let me take her up and lay her with Ronald. She can sleep and we’ll contact Dumbledore.” She patted Remus on the shoulder. She couldn’t tell him. Albus would have to be the one. She slowly walked up the stairs to her son’s room as she tried to maintain control of her emotions. She could feel her own feelings later. Remus needed them now. She stifled the feelings of loss. She laid the sweet child next to her son.

 “I am so sorry darling.” Molly took a few moments to compose herself as she looked down at her son sleeping. They were children of war and while it seemed her son would go unscathed, the beauty next to him would not be so lucky.

 Hope Euphemia Black, named for her maternal grandmother and paternal surrogate grandmother, would not know her parents. She would never know her would be Aunt and Uncle Lily and James. It would be years before she knew Harry. It would be up to Remus now to take care of her. Poor Remus, was all that Molly could think. The man who suffered and struggled all of his life lost his sister and 3 best friends in one fell swoop. Molly didn't know how Remus would take the betrayal of his brother-in-law, but it would not be good. 

Molly was pulled out of her thoughts as the clock chimed. Undoubtedly Dumbledore would have secured Harry with Lily’s sister and would soon be on his way to find Remus. Molly would just have to hold it together for now.  She closed the door quietly behind her as to not to disturb the children. As she walked down the stairs, the voice of her husband set her at ease. 

“Dumbledore is on his way Remus.” She heard the clink of a glass. Arthur must have thought Fire Whiskey more appropriate given the circumstances. “I’m so sorry about Evanora. She was quite remarkable.” 

“Her body-“ Remus couldn’t finish his sentence. “I’ve already dispatched the ministry to recover it. She will get a proper send off Remus.” Arthur was stalling, like Molly, he wanted Dumbledore to be the one to tell him about James, Peter and the fate that would be Sirius Black. Arthur knew that it would break him. Arthur barely knew the group of men and it tore him up. 

A month later...

”Remus, you can’t be serious!” Minerva was incredulous. “You’ll need our help during the full moon. You need support. You both do.” 

“We cannot stay here. She’s not safe. After what happened to Alice and Frank- I have to take her away from here. There are still Death Eaters afoot looking for Voldemort. He will return. She can’t be here when he does.” 

“This isn’t what Nora would have wanted.” Minerva could barely speak her name. She tried not to have favorite students, but Nora Lupin had enchanted all those that came in her wake. 

“NORA ISN’T HERE!” He regretted yelling as soon as the words left his mouth. She said nothing. He sat slowly and placed his head in his hands. “She entrusted her to me. Walburga is already trying to get her hands on Hope. I won’t let it happen.”

 “And what of the full moon?” Remus sighed. “Andromeda and Molly offered to help. But with the supply of Wolfsbane we should be alright.”

 “Where will you go?” Remus didn’t want to give the location away. He wanted Hope to know peace. 

“My parents bought a beach front cottage. It was Nora’s favorite place. We’ll go there. It’s beautiful and peaceful. It’s a home that Nora loved that hasn’t been tainted by the war.” “And when she turns 11?” 

Remus sighed. “Well...I have a little over 9 years to decide. I guess it will depend on how much control she has.” The idea of not having the opportunity to teach the daughter of Nora Lupin and Sirius Black was too much for Minerva. She didn’t know what caused Sirius to turn, but the boy she knew was who she decided to remember.

“Professor-“

 “I think we’ve hit the point where you can call me Minerva.” Remus smiles sheepishly.  

“Minerva- why did he do it? I cannot for the life of me piece it together. He loved my sister. He loved his daughter. How? Why?” Remus was beside himself with grief. Minerva could see the pain wearing on his features, more so than his lycanthropy ever did.

“Sirius maintains his innocence. Perhaps he was given the choice of his family or The Potters. I wish I knew. I wish I had the answers you need. Remus- you must promise me something.” Remus looked up at Minerva McGonagall and was met with tear filled eyes. “You’ll send me the occasional owl?” He nodded and she patted him on the shoulder. 

The two remained silent until the sound of Hope’s laugh came closer and closer. The sound of Sirius echoed through the corridor. Moments later in walked Albus Dumbledore carrying the happy child along with him. In her hands were all sorts of treats the Headmaster had bestowed. He knew Remus’ mind could not be changed. He also agreed that it was for the best, for now.  Remus watched as your face lit up and you reached for him. 

“Come darling, it’s time to go home.” 

“Remus.” Dumbledore stopped the tired looking man. “Remember- help will always be found at Hogwarts for those who need it.” Remus paused for a moment and nodded before heading out into the hallway. As he walked down the corridor with Hope in his arms listening to her chatter, there was one thing he felt certain about, he had no intention of bringing his niece back to Hogwarts. Perhaps he’d send her to a school abroad or he would teach her himself. His fear that the dark world that took your mother would take his Hope too.   

[desktopdust]

Phantom Network: Malware Uninstall

A common question bandied about in regards to the Phantom Network is how a bunch of (insert adjectives like “lowlife” or “no good dirty”, etc) thieves manage to work together without constantly stabbing each other in the back. Yes, I’ll admit, even I didn’t quite understand it back when I was but a wee passive civilian living a mundane life, but I now realize this was only because I grossly misunderstood what a Phantom Thief is.

Most often, you hear “thief” and you picture someone taking something for themselves--a selfish hoarder who collects by any means necessary.  A Phantom Thief, however, has more noble goals in mind...and a flair for the dramatic. Bit of a tangent, but important to note. You see, Phantom Thieves don’t steal for themselves: they steal for others.  We take from the rich and give to the poor and all that jazz, because even if it’s only a drop in the ocean of wealth the elites have built up, the act of stealing from them proves that they aren’t invincible.  It’s all too easy to feel powerless in this world.  But when those with power aren’t able to stop regular people from knocking them down a peg, you get a tiny bit of hope, and more often than you might expect, that tiny bit of hope can make all the difference. Those dedicated to making that happen join the Phantom Network with a simple vow: “honor among thieves”.

Usually, that’s enough.  But no organization is inherently pure, and no matter what your goals are (especially when you’re working outside the law), it’s only natural you’ll attract some folks who are in it for the wrong reasons.  And that’s what we have the FW Protocol for!  If a thief is found to have no honor, the Protocol strips them of their privileges and finds the safest way to expunge them from the organization.  We don’t go as far as to execute somebody, but with how difficult memory deletion is to pull off, lifetime imprisonment is a fairly common result.  The system works...most of the time.  The Protocol can’t be too aggressive, so it usually waits for someone else to file a complaint.  But, with the whole “honor” thing, a lot of good Phantom Thieves won’t feel right ratting on their colleagues unless they go way over the line, at which point they’ve probably already caused an incident and have the Protocol on their tail.  Plenty of thieves manage to operate in that gray area, serving themselves without pissing anyone off too much...and I’ve all too frequently had the pleasure of dealing with one such individual.

Kari always pushed the limits even of that gray area.  But it’s rare to find someone who can competently manipulate time, so she wasn’t entirely wrong in thinking that the Network needed her.  Even after being betrayed over and over, I still haven’t filed a complaint, because she hasn’t outright ruined any job she’s been on and I don’t want to resort to drastic measures just for being personally wronged.  Like I said, honor among thieves.  I had decided to just put the whole thing behind me, not work with or even think about her ever again, but...things took a bit of a turn.

The “courtroom” we have at HQ is rarely used, so it’s a bit cramped.  I practically had to wedge myself into the corner as I took my seat and waited for things to kick off.  Opposite the door, the Phantom Network Admin sat at a blocky steel desk: a broad-shouldered, dark-skinned individual with a cyan bionic eye and metal down one half of their face, the other partly obscured by their many red curls.  Between us were four lightly-armored folks who each wore solid red shades, and in the midst of them, Kari, with a jamming bolt stuck to her alchemar between her shoulder blades and shackles on her wrists.

“Phantom Thief Kari, the Epoch Swindler,” the Admin said.  “Following the recent incident at Navy Canyon, the FW Protocol has conducted an investigation and found you in violation of your vow as a Phantom Thief.  What do you have to say in your own defense?”

Kari adjusted her bangs with a puff of air.  “Listen boss, I know I’m not exactly a paragon of virtue--honor isn’t something that comes all that easily to me.  But have I really done anything that awful?  I’m still serving the essential functions of a Phantom Thief, and none of my transgressions have impeded operations in any meaningful way.”  Under her breath, she added, “Until Navy Canyon, at least...but that was an accident.”

“It is worth noting there have been no formal complaints filed against her,” said one of the FWs surrounding her.  “However, when we interviewed those who have worked with her in the past, we noticed a running theme of dishonorable conduct.  Several such thieves have been brought in today to share their accounts on-record.”

The various assembled thieves were called up one by one, each sharing a lovely little tale about some time Kari shafted them.  Honestly it was hard not to laugh: I felt their pain.  Through it all, Kari just stood there, completely silent as her misdeeds were laid out before her.  Part of me couldn’t help but take satisfaction in the sight.  But, another part...

“Lastly, we would like to hear from Phantom Thief Roche.”

I pushed my way to the front of the room, avoiding eye contact with Kari for as long as I could.  When I faced the FWs, though, I could see her out of the corner of my eye, staring dag...huh. Well, she was staring, but not as maliciously as I was expecting.

“Roche.  On how many occasions have you worked with Kari?”

“Ah, nearly a dozen, I guess,” I said.

“And during these occasions, did Kari conduct herself in a manner you found questionable?”

“Every time.”  I saw Kari look to the floor.  That’s the most remorse I’ve ever seen her show.

“In particular, please share your recollection of the Cosmic Sapphire heist.”

“Right.”  I shifted my weight a little.  “A certain Mr. Snyder had the national museum display a set of fine jewels he had collected over the years, so the two of us set out to steal the exhibit.  Breaking in was easy, and then I went to the display room while Kari disabled the security.  As soon as I had an opening, I snatched the jewels, but as I was headed out I was jumped by a mercenary using a sound alchemar.  Turns out Snyder had shelled out quite a sum bringing in extra help once we warned him we were coming.  I’m sure I don’t need to go into detail about why fighting sound-users is tricky--suffice to say I was on the back foot, with things only evening out once Kari showed up.  We were doing okay, so I made a plan to end it.  I got in close as a distraction...next thing I knew, my bag felt a good bit lighter, and I was eating concrete.  Took me a minute to piece everything together, but basically: Kari stopped time, took the jewels off my hand, and then bolted back here on her own.  Not to be dramatic, but I almost died there.  That’s the only time since joining the Network I’ve had to make an emergency call. In the end, Kari got full payment, I looked like an amateur, and…”

Hesitation struck.  See, I haven’t taken a look at the Cosmic Sapphire Collection--it was turned over to the Admin and stored in the Network’s cache--but I’ve always had a strong suspicion that a few of the jewels didn’t make it back to HQ.  I wanted to bring it up, but...it’s not like I had any proof.  It was baseless, and I’d just be slandering Kari and making her (already very bad-looking) case look a lot worse.  She was still looking at the floor, and it was still weirding me out.

Nodding, one of the FWs asked, “And?”

Mmm, I might hate her, but I gotta be fair.  I sighed, continuing, “And, I’m just mad about it.  Being left to die and all.  But, there you have it.”

I went back to my seat.  The Admin folded their hands before their face, staring at Kari as they sifted through the information they had just absorbed.  “Well.  It sounds to me as though you’ve been awfully consistent, and all that’s saved you from comeuppance is the reluctance of more honorable thieves.  Do you have anything to add, Kari?”

She shook her head.  “...No.”

Yikes.  I’d never seen her like this, and it was really starting to get to me.

“This selfish streak casts itself upon your current claims.  Having previously been so willing to let your colleagues come to harm, it becomes more difficult to believe that the losses suffered at Navy Canyon were simply an accident.  Especially considering how flippant you were in the wake of the incident.”

“Makes sense.”

The Admin paused, and boy did it drag on.  Eventually, they said, “Have any come to speak in defense of Kari?”

“None,” answered an FW.

“So we truly have only your word to go on that this was an accident?”

“Come on, I--” Kari snapped, but cut herself off with a huff.  “Alright.  I’m an asshole, no two ways about it--it’s not like I don’t know.  Maybe I didn’t react right to what was going on, but at this point, what do I have to gain by lying about it?  It was an accident.  I didn’t want those thieves to die.  Believe me, don’t believe me, whatever.  Are we gonna keep running in circles, or can we just get this over with?”

Damn, okay. Something got to her.

The Admin said, “You must have an idea of what my decision would have to be if we leave things here.  Are you alright with that?”

“I just want it over with,” Kari mumbled.  “If there’s no changing it, then this is just torture.”

So...she’d already accepted being banned from the Network?  And was still insisting it was an accident?  Why?  What did she benefit from being honest at that point?

The Admin sat up straight.  “Very well.”

Hold on.

“Kari, you are hereby--”

“Wait!” I said.  All eyes turned to me.  “...Boss. To be fair...I think she’s telling the truth about Navy Canyon being an accident.”

The Admin raised an eyebrow.  “You do? Even though she’s put your life in jeopardy before?”

“I mean I’m still mad about that, don’t get me wrong.  But it’s not like she let the others die and then got out of there: she stayed and finished the mission, and even saved the lives of the right flank later on.  Why would she do that if she had killed the vanguard on purpose?”

After another all-too-long pause, the Admin said, “You make a fine point. But even if that was simply an accident, the trend in her conduct still stands.”

I glanced at Kari.  She was staring at me, eyes wide with confusion.  Don’t ask me, I didn’t get it either.  “Of course.  But, we don’t need to overreact, right?  I think the fact that she stayed after that accident shows she’s not a completely lost cause--maybe we can help her to be a little more honorable, given enough time and incentive.”

The Admin considered this, leading to yet another long silence during which I could feel myself growing old.

“Plus, where are we going to find another time-user on her level?  Not to sound like a business bastard, but you can look at it as an investment.”

The Admin chuckled.  “Practical. I suppose if we lock her for a while, we can take the time to educate her on proper Phantom Thief conduct. Mandatory, of course, and she’ll be confined to quarters otherwise.  Reparations will also need to be arranged, but that’s something we can work out at a later date.  Does this sound acceptable to you, Kari?”

She turned back to face the Admin.  “...Well, doesn’t sound like my idea of a good time, but...I suppose it’s better than my other option.”

“This will only work if you are truly willing to learn.  If you remain obstinate, this verdict can and will be amended.”

“Okay, I get it.  I’ll take it seriously.”

“Good.  Does anyone else have anything to add?”  No one did. “Then we’re done.  Please escort Kari back to her quarters and confiscate her alchemar.  Once you are satisfied the conditions are secure, please inform me, and then we can proceed.”

The FWs ushered Kari out of the room.  As she passed, she stared at me, but I kept my eyes forward.  The other thieves filed out, and I stayed where I was until finally the Admin walked up to me.

“I have to admit, Roche: I wasn’t expecting that from you.”

With a shrug, I got to my feet.  “Yeah, me neither.  Couldn’t tell you why that happened.”

The Admin smiled.  “I see. You know, if we’re going to instill a sense of honor in Kari, there’s quite a bit she could learn from you.”

Every muscle in my body went stiff as I began to question recent decisions.

“Don’t worry, I won’t put you through that.”

The tension drained out of me all at once.  You’d think it’d be cathartic, but it was more like the experience of finally vomiting after hours of nausea.

“Thank you for speaking up, Roche.  Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

Kari was locked for a good few months after that.  She wasn’t entirely responding well to her training, but she did make an effort, and eventually we got somewhere.  After doing a handful of supervised jobs pro bono, she was allowed to leave her quarters, and no one at HQ saw her for another couple months after that.  But, she did come back eventually and resumed duties as normal.  I haven’t interacted with her since the investigation, and I don’t really feel an urge to change that.  I’d like to think she’s made some real progress, but...it’s hard to give someone the benefit of the doubt after repeated betrayal.  I’m gonna keep my distance.  With any luck, she’s at least got some sense of honor now, and she won’t be my problem ever again.

[britishassistant]

But I Like One Piece (9)

It takes her a long time to get Okaa-sama back inside.

There’s masks watching from the trees as she closes the door, and she can spot more through all the windows, glimpses of white against dark leaves.

She closes the door and locks it.

Then she draws the blinds on all of the windows, as though that will act as a barrier somehow.

Her mother is still weeping softly downstairs.

She slides down a wall, trying to choke back sobs herself. She can’t do this. Not now. She needs to think, to plan, not—not cry like a helpless little eight year old.

She is mentally twenty, she needs to act like it.

She pinches her arms, hard, until the tears in her eyes are from the pain instead.

Think, Ketsugi. How can you convince the authorities of Otou-sama’s innocence without getting yourself and Okaa-sama locked up as well?

The easiest way would be to catch the real culprit.

But she has no idea what actually happened yet, let alone who could’ve done it. If she tries to start snooping around the crime scene for clues, she’ll probably be caught and imprisoned for suspicious behavior. And then Okaa-sama would be all alone, so that’s out.

She could go on strike.

Not a hunger one, but she could sit outside the Hokage’s office with a cardboard sign? Naruto, Lee, Chouji and Sakura would sit with her, she’s sure. Maybe even all of their lunchtime group.

And then the masks will take them, like they’d taken Naruto and Lee, all of her friends vanishing in swirls of leaves, never to be seen again—

She has to bite down on her knee, teeth digging into the flesh awkwardly, to keep herself from screaming.

She briefly entertains a fantasy of going around and beating masks up until they tell her where Otou-sama is, and then staging a dramatic rescue complete with a dynamic entry and exit.

No, she decides, swallowing the metallic taste in her mouth. She’s nowhere near strong enough for that, no matter how much she’s improved under Gai-sensei’s and her father’s training. The masks would just hurt her again.

So if she can’t find the true culprit, or peacefully protest his imprisonment, or rescue Otou-sama by force, what can she do?

She gnaws at her lower lip.

...There really isn’t anything, is there?

Everything she can think of would end up with them imprisoned as well, or worse. Konoha’s not like her last life, with laws and foundations and charities against illegal incarceration. They don’t even have a police force anymore, since all the Uchiha were the police and all the Uchiha are dead.

Things like bail or lawyers or civil rights are probably about as substantial as a pipe dream here.

That must be why Okaa-sama’s crying so much.

Because she knows that the people who took Otou-sama have all the power here, and anything they try to do to get him back could mean he’s forced to stay captive for longer instead, to punish them for disobedience.

All they can do is keep their heads down and try not to show any aggression or resentment and hope obedience translates into loyalty and innocence in the eyes of the right people.

They’re just immigrants after all. They have no power in a village that doesn’t want them here.

She troops downstairs, knee stinging with the movement.

She takes the portion on the plate out of the oven, and switches the oven off. She gently puts it onto a smaller plate and covers it in foil, waiting for it to cool before she puts it into the fridge. She washes off the big plate and puts it back in the cupboard where it lives.

She does not consider giving the meal to someone else or eating it herself. Otou-sama is coming back. It’ll...just take him a little while, that’s all.

She goes back upstairs and brushes her teeth and puts on her little nightie.

By the time she comes back down, the food’s cooled enough to safely be put in the fridge.

She lingers in the doorway of the living room. “Okaa-sama?”

Her mother lifts her head from her arms. Her eyes are swollen and red, and her thick brown hair is disheveled. “Hm?”

“Can I sleep with you in the big bed tonight?” She asks, ears burning, painfully aware that she hasn’t done so since she was two and would wake up screaming from dreams about her old family and best friend and robbers with itchy trigger fingers.

“Oh sweetheart.” Her mother murmurs. “Of course. Just let Okaa-san get ready for bed, alright?”

“Okay.” She says. She goes back upstairs.

She sits and rubs spit into the little teethmarks on her knee, so the sluggishly bleeding punctures will scab over and she won’t get blood on her parents’ sheets.

They’ve stopped bleeding and she’s crawled under the covers and dozing by the time Okaa-sama finally comes upstairs and begins washing up for bed.

Her mother hugs her close in bed, her hair dampening under the onslaught of silent weeping.

Hey Franky, Usopp, Sanji and Luffy. She prays silently. I know this is a lot to ask, but please, please, please. Let Otou-sama come home safe. Me and Okaa-sama can’t do anything, so please. Help us by doing what we can’t.

“Psst!”

She rolls over in bed, eyes feeling too heavy to open.

“Psst! Little girl! What was it...Ketsugi Mayu-san!”

She wrinkles her nose, blinking and rubbing the sleep out of one eye.

There’s a turtle on her pillow. It’s little, and green with yellow swirls on it’s shell.

But still. Turtle.

“Y’r a t’rtle.” She slurs.

The turtle looks very indignant (can turtles do that?) and straightens its head. “I.” It whispers, in a very self-important tone. “Am a tortoise.”

“Y’r a t’rt’se.” She corrects agreeably. Then pauses. “Didj’ou jus’ talk?”

“Yes I did. Honestly girl, haven’t you ever seen a summons before?” The tortoise complains.

“Whassa summons?” She asks, rubbing her other eye.

The tortoise mutters something that sounds a little unkind about civilian families. “You can call this one Jimichi. I have come from Gai-sama, bearing a message for Ketsugi Mayu-san.”

Okaa-sama shifts restlessly behind her.

She looks behind her at her mother, and then back to the tortoise. “May I pick you up, Jimichi-san?”

Jimichi-san looks like he’s about to protest when Okaa-sama lets out a soft little sob in her sleep. “Ooh—alright then, just this once, mind!”

She carries the tortoise into her bedroom and sets him down on her bed, kneeling in front of him.

“Are you hungry, Jimichi-san? Would you like some water or anything?”

The tortoise looks considering, before shaking his little wrinkly head. “No, thank you. I will be fine, so long as I complete my mission.”

She sits back on her heels to listen, trying to ignore the little pinpricks of pain in her knee.

“Gai-sama wishes to tell you he will be out of the village for the next week or so—he is currently in pursuit of the thieves who broke into Hokage Tower earlier today. He conveys his regards to Ketsugi Jirou and Chie, and expects you to keep up your most youthful training with Uzumaki Naruto-kun and Rock Lee-kun.” The tortoise took a breath.

“Are Naruto and Lee alright, Jimichi-san?” She bursts out, hardly able to control herself.

The tortoise shoots her a withering look. “How should I know? Yūcho and Katsu were sent to talk to them, not me.”

“Oh. I’m sorry. I-I just haven’t seen them since the mask took them away a-aft-after—” She swallows, and makes herself continue even if her voice sounds small. “—After he said my father was being held in Interrogation.”

There’s a quiet inhale.

“Has your father been doing anything that warrants this suspicion?” Jimichi-san asks.

She frowns. “Of course not. If he were going to do it, Otou-sama would’ve talked it over Okaa-sama and come up with a plan to get her and me and Naruto out if he got caught—he loves her too much not to. And both of them are too much in love with Gai-sensei to hurt the village he loves like this.”

“What.” Jimichi-san squeaks.

There’s a soft snap from the tree in next door’s garden. Maybe a stray cat?

“I know.” She whispers, barely stifling giggles. “It’s so embarrassing—at breakfast t-they always pine over hi-his e-eve-every w-wo—”

Ah. She’s crying. She rubs furiously at her face, but it’s not stopping, why won’t it stop—

“Oh—blow.” Jimichi-san sighs. “...if I find out what happened to Uzumaki Naruto and Rock Lee, will you stop making this racket?”

She sniffs miserably. “‘M sorry.”

He gives a disdainful huff before retracting into his shell.

There’s two puffs of smoke, and then there’s a yellow tortoise with blue swirls on its shell and a purple one with red swirls on her bed.

“Jimi, dude, what gives?” The yellow one says.

“I am not your ‘dude’, Yūcho!” Jimichi-san hisses. “My name is Jimichi! And keep your voice down, you numbskull!”

“Awright, awright, don’t get’cha panties in a twist, jeez.” Yūcho-san says without lowering his voice very much at all. “‘Sup little dude?”

“Hello.” She replies, biting her lower lip to keep from laughing. Don’t think about Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, don’t think about Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, don’t—

“U-um.” The purple one whispers. “Why are we here, Jimichi-san? Was there a problem with delivering your message?”

“Wh-of course there wasn’t!” Jimichi-san blusters. “My message was delivered with all due promptness and clarity, wasn’t it, Ketsugi-san?”

“Yes Jimichi-san.” She nods. “I’m Ketsugi Mayu. It’s nice to meet you, Yūcho-san, Katsu-san.”

The purple one—Katsu-san— startles a little. “Eh, nice to meet you too. Um.”

“Oh fuck.” Yūcho-san stares at her. “You’re the one who’s dad is de—”

Jimichi-san somehow rockets himself across her duvet to slam into Yūcho-san and send him spinning like a top. “Don’t you dare use those words in front of a little girl, you idiot!!”

She gapes as Yūcho-san gradually slows and begins groaning complaints, not quite sure what to do or how to stop it if this somehow turns into a tortoise-brawl on top of her bed.

Don’t think about Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.

Jimichi-san stands. “Honestly. Ketsugi-san asked me to call you here because she was worried about Uzumaki Naruto-kun and Rock Lee-kun, and here you are, wasting her time. Now, did you two deliver your messages successfully to your recipients or didn’t you?”

“Of course I did, dude!” Yūcho-san protests. “Blondie was in his apartment and got the message loud and clear!”

“Um, I also was able to locate Lee-san at the Orphanage.” Kastu-san volunteers softly. “He was deep in thought, but was not actively distressed.”

She sighs. Well, she’ll take what she can get. “Thank you for your help, Yūcho-san, Katsu-san, Jimichi-san.” She bows at the waist.

“Ah, i-it’s no problem.” Katsu-san stutters, while Yūcho-san cheers, “Hey, happy to help!”

Jimichi-san lets out a little huff. “Well, you just keep your head down and your nose clean, alright? You’ll be no good to anyone if you’re in trouble too. Now run along back to bed, go on.”

She stands and bows to them again. The three tortoises all vanish in puffs of smoke.

It feels awful, trying to get up at her normal time the next morning.

She rubs the sleep from her swollen eyes, and tucks the blanket back in around her mother. Okaa-sama hadn’t even stirred during the night. Little furrows still crease her brow in sleep.

She kisses the crown of her mother’s head, and leaves the house as quietly as she can.

She keeps her eyes on her shoes and doesn’t look up at where she can feel the masks watching her.

Naruto hasn’t set up any traps this morning. She knocks on his door, the sound jarring in the quiet of dawn.

His eyes are bloodshot and red, making the blue look even bluer.

“I wan’ ‘Tou-san.” He mumbles.

She reaches out and hugs him tight, pretending she doesn’t feel his shoulders shaking as she strokes his back.

“I know.” She murmurs. “I want him too.”

Even Lee is subdued compared to his usual exuberance.

He’s trying his best. He takes both of them by the shoulders and says, “Don’t worry! Gai-sensei will definitely find the culprit soon and free your father from his most unyouthful imprisonment!”

Naruto’s face crumples even more at that for some reason, so she does her best to smile back at Lee for the both of them. “Yeah. Thanks, Lee.”

Since Lee’s the oldest and the most like Gai-sensei in temperament, it’s unanimously decided that he will be the one to lead the group’s exercises.

He’s not as hard a task-master as Gai-sensei, dropping the number of laps they have to do around Konoha by five every time Naruto yawns. They end up doing only one hundred of the original one hundred and fifty.

They’re running through the basic kata for what will eventually be a Dynamic Entry once their leg muscles are built up enough when it hits her.

She stops dead.

Unfortunately, her momentum doesn’t, so she wavers on her toes before her leg buckles and she crashes to the ground.

“Mayu-chan!”

“I’m okay!” She unfolds herself and sits up, looking into two pairs of worried eyes. “I’m fine—just remembered something and got distracted is all.”

“What is it?” Lee asks as Naruto plops down beside her.

She opens her mouth, and closes it. She looks away, ears and neck burning with embarrassment.

“I—” Her voice cracks, and she has to swallow. “I...may have forgotten to make us lunch last night?”

Lee decides that the best thing to do is run another lap of Konoha before going back to her house to make lunch together.

She readily agrees. She doesn’t think she could stand it if she had to work in a silent kitchen. Not today.

There are more people up and about now.

It may just be paranoia, but she could swear that many of them were whispering and pointing at her.

She keeps her eyes down and does her best to ignore this as she ignores the masks.

The house is still dark when she lets them in. Well, Okaa-sama does need her sleep.

They decide to make something quick and easy for lunch.

They have plenty of bacon, and some spring greens left over from yesterday’s miso soup. So while she parboils and shocks the vegetables, Lee stirs the bacon around in the pan, and Naruto puts what may be a little too much honey mustard on slices of bread.

Okaa-sama comes down sometime during when she’s patting the spring greens dry.

Her mother won’t stop touching, whether it’s ruffling Lee’s hair, giving her kisses on the cheek, or hugging Naruto.

Naruto latches onto Okaa-sama like an octopus with his arms and legs. Her mother promptly heaves him up to sit on her hip, showing no sign of strain at carrying around an eight year old boy, and begins to prepare breakfast around them.

By the time the sandwiches are assembled and put into the lunchboxes with sides of cherry tomatoes and pudding cups for dessert, there’s barely enough time to run through the basic strikes her father was teaching her.

Lee’s enthusiasm about her training is...well-intentioned if ill-advised.

“No, I’m not going to hit you with the bokken! It’ll really hurt!” She argues.

“Do not worry, Mayu-chan! I am sure that I will be able to block adequately so I am not injured!” Lee says cheerfully, giving her a thumbs up.

“I’m telling you, even blocking this will give you bruises!!” She yells back, exasperated. “Okaa-sama! Tell him!”

Okaa-sama smiles at them as Naruto giggles weakly, hitching him higher. “I think Mayu-chan is right about this, Lee-kun. Come on in both of you, breakfast is ready.”

The Academy is buzzing with rumors

Apparently what happened yesterday was a theft—though whether anything got taken or not or if the theft was combined with an attempt on the Hokage’s life is hotly debated.

The thief—or thieves’—target was apparently a scroll of some kind, which apparently contained some insanely strong, killer jutsu from the Nidaime’s time. Or the secret to eternal life. Or the Shodaime’s ultimate bloodline ability. Or all the money in Konoha’s treasury.

For some reason everyone pulls a face when one of the civilian kids volunteers the last option.

There’s also plenty of argument about who the culprits are. A lot of people think it was the Demolition Squad from Iwa, given the huge explosion. Others say it wasn’t flashy enough to be Iwa, that it had to be missing-nin from Suna. Still more say that there’s no way it’d be Suna, that the only people strong enough to get through Konoha’s defenses were the Seven Swordsmen of Kiri.

One or two say it might’ve been Uchiha Itachi, come back to test his strength against the Hokage, but glares from their lunchtime group quickly shut that up.

There’s a general consensus that it had to be an inside job though. That the culprits, whoever they were, needed somebody in Konoha to know where their prize was and how to get to it.

“But we saw that blonde guy yesterday.” Kiba insists. “It’s obvious that was one of the thieves!”

“That doesn’t discount the possibility of there being someone in Konoha who helped them.” Shikamaru drawls. “After all, how could an outsider who’s never lived here know anything?”

Something niggles in her brain, but she focuses on eating her sandwich.

Ino sighs. “Daddy’s had to do so much overtime at his work because of this stupid thing.”

She narrowly avoids flinching, and asks, “What does this have to do with your dad doing overtime at the flower shop?”

Theres’s a silence.

“What?” Ino says, confusion written all over her face.

She shrugs. She doesn’t think she said anything weird...

“Mayu.” Shikamaru says slowly. “What is it you think Ino’s family does?”

She takes another bite that tastes like cardboard and carefully thinks over her answer. “...Flower shop ninja?”

Ino snorts and Hinata begins giggling quietly, while Sakura stares at her. She shifts in her seat.

“Right.” Shikamaru says, squinting at her. “Okay. And Chouji’s family? Or Kiba’s.”

Oh, she knows these. “Chef ninja and dog ninja.” She replies confidently.

Chouji shrugs, nods, and bites into an onigiri while Kiba cheers, pulling Akamaru off his head for cuddles and doggy kisses.

“My family?” Sasuke cuts in, bags under his eyes. He looks like crap.

She meets his gaze head on. “Police ninja.” Then she puts the other half of her sandwich and her cherry tomatoes into his lunchbox.

He looks down at it, grunts, and bites into the sandwich. Then makes a face. “Too much mustard.”

“Blame Naruto.” She says, grinning at the boy in question’s mildly irritated “Hey!”

“Mine, Shino’s and Hinata’s families?” Shikamaru asks, head now cradled in his hands.

She frowns. “Insect ninja...” She points at Shino, who inclines his head, “I have no idea about Hinata...Sleepy ninja?”

Ino and Kiba promptly crack up. Even Chouji chuckles a bit.

Shikamaru’s head drops through his hands and thunks on the table. “How have you lived in Konoha your whole life and still know nothing?!”

“I know some things!” She argues, flushing in embarrassment. “It’s just—knowing what food you like is more important than where you come from, right?”

There’s a moment of silence as everyone stares at her.

Then Hinata goes red as Chouji hums next to her, a quiet, happy sound, and Shikamaru mutters “Troublesome,” under his breath as everyone focuses back on eating.

[gorogues]

Fictober 2019

Fanfic: Flash Rogues Rated: R Warnings: Medical experimentation/torture, and discussion about death and supernatural corpses.  This one's kind of dark so it's behind a cut, but hopefully it's fitting for October?

Day Nine: “There is a certain taste to it.”

"We've been through this many times already," Roscoe said tiredly, his eyes burning daggers at the man who stood over him.  The Rogue was securely restrained to a long table in a homemade laboratory, although at least his bonds weren’t uncomfortably tight.

"And we'll keep going through it until you tell me what I need to know," the man chided him in an almost bored-sounding tone.  "I'd like to go home and not have to look at you anymore, so your co-operation would be appreciated."

"I have told you everything!  What more do you want from me?"

"I need concrete answers, a how-to guide for all the creepy shit you do!  I need to know how to cheat death!" the man shot back.  "And I'll get it even if I have to kill you myself and watch how you do it!"

Roscoe let out an exhausted sigh.  As much of a hassle as it would be, dying and finding a new body was starting to seem preferable to interrogation and medical tests at the hands of an unhinged wannabe scientist who'd imprisoned him for an uncertain length of time.  There were no windows in the room, so it wasn't clear how long he'd been held captive.  Days, for sure, but probably more than a week.

"You know that I'd be invisible and you would not see anything.  And these walls could not hold me, so I’d be long gone from here," the prisoner reminded him with a distinctly snide inflection.

A current of electricity jolted him in his restraints and he let out a loud yelp of pain.  He breathed heavily as his heart rate had spiked and then calmed down, and the man dictated "Subject experiences normal human reaction to shock," into the recorder held in his hand.

"You knew that already!" Roscoe growled in frustrated disbelief, shaking his head.  "We have already established that I am a normal living being once inside a host body!"

"There's nothing normal about you," the man said coldly as he took yet another blood sample.  "You may eat and sleep and urinate, but you're no longer human."

"Then why would you want to be anything like me?"

"It's got to be better than being dead," the man said with a frown, and Roscoe closed his eyes as he thought about the terrors of Hell.

"It is."

He seemed quieter and more compliant now, so his captor decided to begin his questioning anew.  "Tell me everything about what happens when you take a new body."

"There are different classes of ghosts, and some can possess living people and some cannot.  I am limited to bodies without brain activity, which in practical terms is usually a corpse," Roscoe began in a monotone.  "All I have to do is approach the body and jump right in, and if my energy is strong enough I can take control of it.  There is a certain taste to it when I first jump inside, like metal in the mouth and a faint scent of decay, and then the corpse's senses start screaming at me as they begin to re-activate.  The body's biological processes then start working again, and with some time they function like any living person's do.  I am not truly dead, even if the body was formerly a corpse.  That's all there is to it."

The man had been murmuring all these details into his dictaphone as Roscoe spoke, even though they'd discussed this many times before.  "But you need to tell me how you jump into a body," he complained.  "I need to know how you do it, so I can replicate it when the time comes."

"How do you take any leap of faith?" Roscoe asked in that same trance-like monotone.  "You just do it."  

His eyes suddenly opened and he looked directly up at his captor with renewed intensity.  "I did not mention that not every ghost can possess bodies, and some cannot even take corpses.  Some simply remain immaterial for the rest of their existence."

The man looked surprised.  "So some people are just out of luck?  How do you know what kind of ghost you’ll be?"

Roscoe's eyes narrowed at him.  "You need a certain strength of will and mind to possess a body, let alone control it so it can walk and isn't randomly eliminating every time its excretory system fills up.  I also did not mention that I am quite capable of jumping out of a body if I wish, and thus walking out through these walls."

The man’s eyes widened and he quickly pressed down on the captive’s chest, as if to hold him in place on the table.  Ridiculously futile, of course.  "You can't do that!  You won't have a body!"

"I am quite capable of finding another one, and will remember what you've done to me.  I’ll be paying you a visit sometime in the future, and you will have no idea what I'll look like," Roscoe said in an icy tone.  "Goodbye."

"No!" the man shouted, but the ghost had already hopped out of its body and the shell immediately reverted back to its lifeless state.  Unseen, the ghost slipped through the walls to freedom and went in search of a new corpse to be its host.

Roscoe was patient.  He could wait.

[dailyaudiobible]

08/02/2019 DAB Transcript

2 Chronicles 32:1-33:13, Romans 15:23-16:9, Psalms 25:16-22, Proverbs 20:16-18

Today is the 2nd day of August. Welcome to the Daily Audio Bible. I am Brian. It is a pleasure to be here with you as we…well…as we move into the end of the week and approach the weekend, the first weekend of the month of August. We have made it a long way together and we’re learning so much together as God's word continues to speak on its own behalf, in its entirety in a year. So we’re reading from the Common English Bible this week and we’re rounding the corner on second Chronicles and for that matter we’re rounding the corner on the letter to the Romans. So, we’re gonna be switching up here over the next couple of days into some new territory but first we need to finish well where we are. Second Chronicles chapter 32 verse 1 through 33 verse 13 today.

Commentary:

Alright. So, from our time and second Chronicles today we again encountered the story of Assyria’s invasion of Israel and we can just be like, “yeah there's another piece of the story, there's some history of how things happened”, but if we go a little closer, we see that we’re reading our own story as well and we’re given some pretty powerful counsel on how to navigate. So, when King Hezekiah faced the reality that the Assyrians were coming, and they were outnumbered and unprepared he acted very wisely. He did what he could first to prepare himself and his army for the attack. Like, he cut off the water flow so that if the invasion happened than the invading army wouldn’t have access to water and he fortified and repaired the defensive walls of Jerusalem and built towers and additional defenses and then had weaponry for his soldiers made that they would need for that kind of a battle and then he encouraged the people by telling them, “be brave and be strong. Don't let the king of Assyria and all those warriors that he brings with them scare you because you dismay, because our forces are greater than his. All he has his human strength, but we have the Lord our God will help us fight our battles.” So, let’s look at what happened here. King Hezekiah received word that the enemy was going to invade and what he did not do is go lay on his bed and sulk. What he did do is everything he could do to prepare and acknowledged God in all of it. So, we easily could pause here and consider the battles that we’re facing. Are we doing all that we can to be prepared and then having faith in God alone or are we just completely unaware? As the story went on, we saw that Hezekiah was prepared, as prepared as they could be. The first offensive initiative by the Assyrians had nothing to do with swords and spears and arrows and wood and metal. The first attack…the first wave…and this is so often true in our lives…the first attack was made out of words, right? So, Sennacherib, the king of Assyria sends his envoys to the walls of Jerusalem to tell them they're gonna die. It’s a psychological attack and it’s supposed to weaken and intimidate Jerusalem. Just listen to these taunts. “What makes you so confident that you stay put in Jerusalem while it is being attacked? Obviously, King Hezekiah's fooled you into surrendering yourselves to death by hunger and thirst when he says the Lord our God will rescue us from a serious king. Don’t know what I and my predecessors have done to the people of other nations. Were any of the gods of these other nations able to rescue their lands from my power? Which one of any of the gods of these nations that my predecessors destroyed was able to rescue them from my power? So, why should your God be able to rescue you from my power? Don't let Hezekiah seduce you like fools. Don’t believe him. No God of any other nation or kingdom has been able to rescue their people from me or from my predecessors. No. Your gods won’t rescue you from my power.” Does that sound familiar at all? Like, doesn't that resemble the kind heckling and insults that plague us nearly every time we’re facing a battle? So, like, no matter how prepared we are we seem to face the taunts of the enemy because if we can be demoralized, like, if we will just surrender there…well then it doesn't matter how prepared we are or how much were trusting in God. If we believe the taunts then fear overtakes and wins the battle over our faith and then God seems completely absent, like He's gone, like He's unavailable. And, so, when we feel this way, we just need to backtrack and look at the fact that we've been demoralized and surrendered. The thing is, in the story, the threats, the things that were being said outside of Jerusalem's walls, those things were true. The Assyrian Empire had completely destroyed many kings and kingdoms and for sure they had an intimidating, merciless army, but rather than accept defeat and surrender, Hezekiah and also the prophet Isaiah was there, they cried out to God. They were as prepared for battle as they could be, but they were not gonna survive, they would not be able to with withstand a siege, not in their own strength. And, so, they cried out to God and God came. So, according to second Chronicles 33, “then the Lord sent a messenger who destroyed every warrior, leader, and officer in the camp of the Assyrian king. When Sennacherib went home in disgrace, he entered the temple of his God and his own sons killed him with the sword. This is how the Lord rescued Hezekiah and the citizens of Jerusalem from the power of Assyria’s king Sennacherib and all others giving them rest on all sides.” So, what we see in this story is vigilant preparation, totally getting as prepared as possible and a total awareness of what's actually going on, married to a complete understanding that no matter how prepared they might be, no matter how much information or intel that they have, only the strength of God could lead them to victory. Let's member this today as were facing our own battles,

Prayer:

Father, there’s probably not person within the sound of my voice that isn’t facing some sort of battle in some sort of way, and some of these are small little obstacles and some of these are what feels like a full assault on our soul or on our life. And, so, Father, show us by the power of Your Holy Spirit, how to prepare, how to be vigilant, how to not just surrender before anything starts because we’re intimidated, how to be prepared and how to know that You alone are our only hope. And may we see these taunts for what they are. They’re just trying to demoralize us into surrender because if we don't surrender and You are our only strength and we have put all our hope in You, and we have prepared well, well then, the enemy walks in fear. It may taunt, it may try to demoralize, but it will be wiped out completely and thoroughly in the end. Help us to rest in that today Father because some of these battles are big ones. Come Holy Spirit we pray. In the name of Jesus, we ask. Amen.

Announcements:

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The Prayer Wall lives there. The Daily Audio Bible Shop lives there. You can find out about events that are upcoming there.

And the event that is coming up, and we are in the right month now, on the 31st of this month we’ll begin the Daily Audio Bible Family Reunion here in the rolling hills of Tennessee. Here, in the much desired Nashville area these days. Quite the destination spot. Our town is exploding, and we’ve got great spot out on the lake and it is going to be fantastic and I hope you can come here to the rolling hills of Tennessee and spend some time together. All of the details about that event are in the Initiatives section at dailyaudiobible.com. And if you’re using the Daily Audio Bible app you compress the little…there's a little Drawer icon in the upper left-hand corner. That'll get you to the Initiatives section as well. So, you can get all of the details and make plans to come and we’d love nothing more than to see you there. So, check it out.

If you want to partner with the Daily Audio Bible, you can do that at dailyaudiobible.com. There is a link on the homepage. And as I’ve said so many times, I could not possibly thank you enough. We are here because we are here together and I'm grateful and I thank you for your partnership. So, there's a link on the homepage. If you’re using the app, you can press the Give button in the upper right-hand corner of the app or the mailing address, if you prefer, is PO Box 1996 Spring Hill Tennessee 37174.

And, as always, if you have a prayer request or comment 877-942-4253 is number to dial.

And that's it for today. I'm Brian I love you and I'll be waiting for you here tomorrow.

Community Prayer and Praise:

The light of the father resides within us all calling relentlessly with a __ call return to the father give your very best to the stranger as well as your neighbor your first fruits and nothing less encourage your brother because he bears God’s light to let your words be honest faithful and true live in harmony with nature and all things living be quick to confess and even quicker at forgiving be temporal seeking the eternal fleshly be seeking the spiritual and as you transcend your morality and values you’ll reach the place that is ethereal joined with all mankind in universal praise back with the father once again the ancient of days what a wonderful picture of things yet to come back with her father all men not just some but in the meantime father as we work towards that place please give us daily more mercy and grace more oil for our lights more Holy Spirit so when you speak to us father we have no choice but to hear it because sometimes our lights start to flicker and they even grow damn because they’re locked behind our fleshly shells imprisoned within but the darkness will never overcome and extinguish the light inevitably all men try to do what is right help us to be more loving to really care about our brothers to truly let our little light shine and join with all others because all of us have the light of God dwelling within calling to us relentlessly come back once again

blindtony1016@gmail.com. Like to give a shout out to Sherlock Washington and Kim and also Dean Smith and Kim. Thank you both for your support and your love and once again, Brian and the Hardin family, thank you for this wonderful podcast for God’s Holy Spirit to flow. Keep it flowin’ y’all.

My name is Gary, I live in northern Idaho and I am calling to enlist the DAB prayer family. I have been recently diagnosed with metastatic prostate cancer and it’s evidently been around me quite a while because it has progressed to a lot of my skeletal system and the Lord has recently orchestrated everything to get me to a hospital, to the medical center coeur d'alene Idaho where everybody is being the hands and feet of Jesus. So, He’s using everybody, and He’s even given me the opportunity to follow the great commission. So, He’s placed me in the right place, but I am enlisting the prayer warriors of the DAB and to the praying army. Alright? So, I do love and appreciate you guys. I’ve been listening mostly for the last six years. I’ve been through the bible most of the time with these past six years and I’m going through it with you again. Today is the 28th of July. The 20th of July is when I received the final diagnosis. I had suspicions before but now I absolutely know the Lord of heavens armies is on my side and we are…we have established a beachhead against the enemy and we are fighting back tooth and nail. There’s no way I am throwing in the towel on this. I have thrown down the gauntlet and I am fighting side-by-side with Jesus to vanquish this enemy, kick it back to where it came from and be cancer free again. I say again because I went to cancer 40 years ago and I’m here 40 years later to tell you about it, cancer free from that cancer.

Hello, my beautiful Daily Audio Bible brothers and sisters. This is Suzanne calling from Albuquerque. Well, I’m calling today because I’m scared. I…oh…I didn’t go to the doctor when I should have because I had changed…got on affordable care and it was such a mess that I just…anyway the bottom line is I happen to have an ovarian cyst and I finally went to the doctor and they find it’s grown to 7mm and it’s fairly large at this point and I’ve got some pain in that area and I’m scared. She’s…she wants to…I don’t know what they’re going to do but she’s…they got me in there right away as soon as I told her what was going on and then she called on Saturday and they’re gonna send me to a gynecologist and I’m really worried about the medical bills and I should be more worried about my life. I am worried about my life. I just had…I’m just scared and I’m just asking for your prayers. Yeah…I’m…usually when I get scared it’s…it’s…there’s no reason to get scared but, you know, it always turns out good but, you know, anyway I’m just asking for your prayers. I’m worried and I’m scared, and I just have a lot of more…a lot more things I wanted to do with my life. So, please lift me up in prayer about this and I just really hope that it’s all going to be okay and that I’m gonna be okay and I’ll be around for a while longer. Okay, thank you. Oh and the…Angel thank you so much for lifting me up in prayer and all of you who haven’t called in, I know you’ve been praying for me. There’s a gentleman that I think you thought that I was…

Hi, this is Victoria Soldier just calling tonight to pray with some of the DABbers. I will pray with Demetrius. I want to pray with the lady that has insomnia. I want to pray with the man with the five kids and who’s gone through with his family. And I want to pray with Cherry, and I want…and I mean I just want to say hi to Cherry and other people of God. Gracious Father, we lift You up, we magnify Your name. Lord we ask You to touch Demetrius, let him know that You are the one that’s carrying him, let him know that You love him so much that You are right there if he’d only trust You. Oh Lord don’t throw in the towel but throw the towel on prayer. Throw the towel on the floor and begin to pray until something happens. Oh Lord You let him know that You’re right there, that You are a God that can do anything but fail. You’re an almighty God and an awesome God. Lord I ask that You touch his mind, that You touch him and let him know that You’re there. Oh Lord let him know not to quit knocking but to continue on and see what the ends going to be. It says they that wait upon the Lord, He shall renew their strength. He shall mount up with wings as eagles. They shall run and not faint and whatsoever things they doith, they shall prosper. But the ungodly are not so because there’s only one time for them. Lord I just asking to touch the brother with the kids. Lord You have Your way. May You Have Your Way, Lord. You bless him to be that man, that husband, that father. Lord You work it out Lord, in the name of Jesus. Lord help him to trust You and know that You are able to do anything but fail. Oh Lord in the name of Jesus you need to be able to take your rightful place where God can flow through you and flow through your family continue to have Your way in the name of Jesus. Lord You touch the lady who’s going through…

Good morning DABber’s, this is Walta the Burning Bush that will not be Devoured for the Glory of our God and King. I’m calling today for our sister who called in. Her son is facing a charge, he might go to jail. __ God is not gonna let that happen. I think his name is David. I’m not sure. And I know he’s been given…he’s given his life to Christ. And, so, sister, I want you to know that I’m praying for your son right now. I’m standing in the gap for him and praying that God will offer favor, will give him favor in the name of Jesus and that this will just be part of his testimony I pray. Also pray for our brother who walked his dog and God pulled off, I guess on his bike and he ended up breaking a bone in his shoulder. And I pray for recovery, full recovery in the name of Jesus. Family today I am praising God because 2014, 2015 was a year that from 2014 between 2014 and 2015, I did not know I would ever see my son again, my younger son. My ex-husband had taken him to Romania and refusing to send him back to the United States. And, so, I stayed away from my boy for like 11 months praying that he would return. My DAB family prayed to for him to return and in 2015 July, my son, I think is was June, he was brought back to me and this year I’m celebrating his 12th birthday in a day or so on the 30th of July and I just want to praise God for answered prayers. And he’s such a wonderful son. Se is an A honor’s student, a Boy Scout, just a great boy all around and I just want to thank you all for praying for me that time and I just remember God’s mercy’s and his grace and praising god for having my child. Love you guys. Talk…

[whitewolfbumble]

The Fallout - Part Seven (Bucky x Reader)

Summary: You had been a ghost for years, taking down the bad guys from the shadows that had once enslaved you. That is until the Avengers finally caught up with you and yet again your life changed. But your past won’t stay dead and everything starts to shift when a familiar face joins the ranks: Bucky Barnes. He may not remember you, but you certainly remember him.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Slow burn, language, claustrophobic-ness, 

Word Count: About 5k

A/N: And down we go! Some more bits of You/Bucky origin info here. Please let me know what you think lovelies!!

MY MASTERLIST // THE FALLOUT MASTERLIST // PART SIX

The tunnel was intensely musty, completely pitch black, and uneven in all respects. And running top speed through it was a fucking challenge here. You might not be as “super” of a super soldier as the two men you were running towards, but after your years with Hydra you doubted you would pass a drug test.

But you still weren’t a bat. And navigating this blind was disorientating. You did have a small disk-shaped light strapped to your shoulder to somewhat guide you, but with your speed and the sweat in your eyes, it was not enough to spare you a lot of cuts and bruises. Coupled with the fact that you were going so fast and jostling so much, you basically saw what was in front of you only as you were running passed it.

Dodging under a low beam, you raced forward, eyes only half on the terrain and mostly on spotting any traps laid out for you. This one went right to the base so it would be stupid not to set something.

Unless they wanted you there.

You grunted, bring your knees up swiftly towards your chest for a moment as you jumped, trying not to fall as the floor suddenly dropped down a couple feet. You landed- not gracefully by any stretch- without breaking anything though, so win.

Suddenly you skidded roughly to a stop, one leg low in front of you and one bent, hands on the ground bracing yourself. Up ahead there was light. You checked your tracker and saw you were almost there, just another small stretch after a sharp turn. That was what you were seeing ahead of you now.

Okay, get your head in the game here.

Far too slowly for your liking, you walked forward, eyes darting over every inch of the murky, dusty space. It gave you time to calm your panting breath down somewhat.

As you reached the sharp turn you crouched low and looked cautiously around the corner, just the slimmest sliver of your profile visible around the corner. If anyone was there, they would be expecting someone to appear at a normal height, not so far down. It would give them pause before shooting.

But the space was empty. Just another dirty, dusty hallway. So you kept walking, small machine gun out and ready to fire.

You walked like this for some time, heading deeper and deeper until you were at the end of the tunnel and at the base proper. Stopping by the large metal door leading to an empty foyer type room, you pulled up the schematics you had of this base before putting a hand up to the door.

Patchy at best, it looked like you were on the top of two levels, the bottom being much larger than the top. You took in a steady breath, gun ready with your finger just a hair above the trigger. You slowly opened the door and began your mission.

Steve and Bucky had probably made quick work of this floor, set up and looking like an abandoned office out of the eighties. Nothing was out of place in the oddly empty space: no bullet holes or shells from Bucky’s gun, no slashes in the wall from Steve’s shield. And no bodies or blood. Just dingy floor tiles, off-white peeling walls, and the distinct smell of stale neglect.

Your search of this floor was thorough and as quick as you could make it. No traps to your knowledge, and if you had to escape the same way you came in, you knew the best route to do it fast.

A grimy stairwell with railing and steps slick with moisture lead you down to the next level. This one was quite different. The upper level would have been just mundane offices at some point, but the level below was where the experiments happened.

This base had been used largely for imprisonment and human experimentation. You had been here before and from what you remembered, it wasn’t pretty. You didn’t dwell on that much. It wouldn’t help here, as you only had one memory of one room.

Barred cells lined some hallways, others were lined with thick metal doors, their white-painted exteriors a wet and dingy grey-brown with rusted reddy-brown walls that matched the dried old blood on the tables and chairs within. Age had rotted this place, long forgotten and out of use.

The more hallways you slunk down silently, peering into cells with a laser focus, the more you felt your anxiety creeping up on you. And for you on a mission? That was not typical.

This isn’t right.

You couldn’t place what was out of place in all of this. So you kept moving, as silent as the still air around you.

Eventually after some minutes moving through this base like a ghost, you got to the last room in the whole base. It was the furnace room, a large and a complicated mess of pipes and big towering tanks. Again, nothing there. Just that terrifying sound that silence had when it closed in on you.

You had stopped in your tracks by the far wall behind one of those metal tanks to try and collect your thoughts.

This isn’t right.

Okay, no signs anywhere that Steve and Bucky had even entered this base. You knew they had though, as they had said as much before the comms went out. Everyone got into their respective base.

So what the hell? Had they left after their comms went out? But that didn’t sit right with you. They would’ve signaled somehow, figuring you would dig your way through to the base in a heartbeat after not hearing from them.

This isn’t right.

You had no facts, no visuals, no way of figuring out what happened. All you had was a feeling.

So since that was all you had, that was what you focused on.

Yes, this was a creeping fucking place and the silence was all but comforting, but you had been through dank dangerous places before. It was second nature to you and you knew that you shouldn’t be feeling this way. You had too much practice in these kinds of places.

THIS ISN’T RIGHT.

So what’s wrong with it? The emptiness? The cells? The tables with dead blood crusted onto the straps that once held those poor souls down?…

“Shit,” your voice echoed suddenly and loudly in the dank, dark room. "Fuck!"

No, no, no, no, no, no!

You ran top speed, not caring to be quiet or careful anymore, traps or lurking enemies be damned. You took off as fast as your legs could take back towards a hallway lined with those big metal doors. The ones where countless people were held and tortured, like you had been at one time.

You looked in the first cell, then the second, then again down the whole hallway. Running through to the next section, you did the same, quickly taking in the haunted rooms.

And every room you looked in confirmed what was wrong.

Every room may have had a different setup, layout, door, or purpose, but every room in the whole complex was painted the same colour. A red rusty brown.

You swallowed hard and worked to pull up that single memory you had of Vier Gliedmaßen. You had actually dreamt of it not that long ago, that nightmare being the worst of them.

It was the one that featured Bucky, standing in front of you in a concrete-lined cell, with a small barred door the only way out. On the other side of that door were eyes watching, notes scribbled on their notepads as you screamed for help. Not for them to help you exactly, but for Bucky too. Though he never did.

He was hurting you, holding you there while you screamed to be let go, to go back home. But you also didn’t want to leave the cell. You didn’t want to face them again. Impossibly they were far worse than Bucky was.

You didn’t know his real name then, just called him Soldier like they did. Calling Bucky the fake name he had given you always made him hurt you more. You figured he probably killed the man whose name he stole.

You eventually made a name for all of them, the soldiers that came to hurt you again and again. But it wasn’t them- the soldiers- that did it; it was Hydra. They were the ones you hated. They were the ones who did this. And you would rather stay in that cell with the soldiers than face the horrors that they did to you in the name of experimentation. Or the horrors that they made you inflict on others.

The cell they held you in was wet, dank, and concrete. It was painted green, making your bruised, bloodied, and beaten skin look sickly, and Bucky look like some monster, with shadows dancing terrifyingly across his face.

But not a rusted red-brown.

Your memories, however compartmentalized to stay sane, were intact.

They rarely wiped your mind, needing your…creativity in the field, along with the ominous threats and repercussions over the years to have the needed weight. They just pumped you full of something to set you loose, or keep you docile, or keep you in agony and begging them for some relief before it started all over again. Day after day. Decade after decade.

You remembered them calling this place “Vier Gliedmaßen”, the name sticking to your mind as you heard it a few times through the years, conjuring up visions of that cell and that terror. You remembered the overwhelming dirt smell. The dank water pooling on the floor under your bare feet. There was no light beyond the artificial light that patchily lit everything.

You knew the base must be underground, so naturally it had to be this one. Right?

You mentally ran through the other bases and their descriptions from the team. The mountainside base was huge and airy, big enough to easily fit the Hulk, with every room broad, no cells at all, just large rooms of weapons and air support vehicles.

The tech base was one floor, no lower level at all, made of glass and steel. It was half underground but half above. The whole base, start to finish had windows on the upper half of the rooms. They could have updated it? But unlikely. Tech development was never held in the same spot as experimentation as they were resolute to keep it under strict lock and key. You had never been in a tech base while under Hydra’s influence. They wouldn’t have had you or anyone like you near a base like that.

The last base was the one you had been to with Steve and Bucky originally, and nothing there rung a bell at all. It was all above ground, besides the power generator in the basement.

Unless that wasn’t the last base.

Again, you took off running.

“To anyone who can hear, there is another undiscovered base," you said, stomach dropping more with every step. "Repeat, there is another base we didn’t know about.”

You took the stairs three at a time, running up to the top floor as soon as possible. You needed to figure this out fast.

Shit, shit, shit, shit!

“Bucky, Steve… I’ll find you," you practically shouted into the comm. "I will fucking find you. And good luck to anyone listening in that gets in my fucking way!”

If Hydra had captured them and were listening in, they would know you were on your way now.

Good.

You wanted them to know you were coming. You would kill the lot of them before they realized, and you wanted them to know it was you that sliced them open. And if they so much as touched Steve or Bucky it would be so much worse.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., ” you snapped, barely registering the blur of the base as you ran through it. "Tell me you’re still here,

A little light lit up on the wristband. “Here for you, Y/N.”

“Tell me you know where the team is.”

“No, Y/N.”

“Fine,” you breathed heavy, running down to a corridor that held the most exits into the tunnels. “Tell me you at least can still see their vitals."

Your small screen lit up, but the blinking green lights were gone, just grey blinking circles where they had once been. “I can’t seem to find them, Y/N. They’ve vanished.”

“Even Tony?”

“I can’t connect with him.”

“Okay, shit,” you said, boots screeching loudly to a halt as you reached your destination. “The maps of the tunnels, I still have them?”

A map of the tunnels appeared on your wristband. “If there was a base, somewhere in a similar size to the four different Vier Gliedmaßen, where are possibilities within the tunnels?”

“There are four hundred and sixty-four possibilities.”

You took a furious breath in through your nose before strapping your gun back to your thigh holster in favour of unsheathing a knife from the back of your belt. You began turning it and playing with it absently, focusing your frantic energy as best you could.

“Okay, next question, what tunnel leads down the farthest into the ground, that has a dead end?”

“There is one," Finally some decent news. "And an entrance to it is down this hallway, third door to your left, and is the second exit on your left.”

You bolted immediately, kicking in the door, a terribly loud clang echoing everywhere.

“Chances that something base sized could be under it?”

“It’s definitely possible, Y/N.” But not guaranteed.

You reached the door, adrenalin begging you to keep up the pace but you stopped for a moment. Pulling up the map, it did not look like a fun ride. Some sections were almost a straight drop down and incredibly narrow.

“Y/N, I will lose contact with you partially down the tunnel. It’s too deep for me to reach you.”

“Understood,” you said tersely. Fuck Tony and his tech right now. Your heart briefly constricted as you made a promise that you, he, and everyone else on the Team would live for you to tell him that in person.

Then down into the black again you went, praying your hunch was right.

_______

Three kilometres in you hit a first narrow patch. The tunnel had been on a steady decline but it suddenly angled down, the walls getting incredibly close together. It was completely black besides the little shoulder light that bumped and moved with you, causing your focus to be hard to keep. The air itself was dead, stale and it felt like you were breathing in not oxygen but exclusively dust and dirt. Your lungs felt heavy with the weight of it, making this all the more unbearably stifling.

Squeezing through and letting gravity do its part, you let your body fall through, only slight bracing yourself with your hands and feet against the walls. Rock and more dust flew at you, entering your airways and pelleting your face. You wanted speed over safety here though so you kept it up.

Depending on who specifically had taken Steve and Bucky, Hydra could do a lot of damage in the time since you heard from them. The cuts and scraps that riddled you would be nothing compared to that, so you refused to stop.

You hit bottom only making it a few more feet on the rocky ground before you reached another steep decline. This was far more narrow.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y.?”

No response.

You would have to be the sole judge on if you fit through. But honestly, this was the only option. In your mind, despite the incredibly huge possibility this was wrong, to you this was somehow the only way to save them.

Tony had mapped out tunnel after tunnel, but this one wasn’t on the radar. It led nowhere, and they were only looking for exits or tunnels leading to the bases at the time.

In the black, you mentally braced yourself for this.

It would not do much with the tunnel walls so close to your body to get claustrophobic now. You didn’t think of the unknown shrinking space below you or the untold tons of dirt and rock above your head.

Far deeper than six feet under, you thought before shutting that down and focusing.

You got into the best position you could to try and see down through the narrow passageway angling down below you. It looks like it was narrowest at the opening, only a few metres until it opened up, if only slightly.

This better be fucking stable enough.

You shimmied yourself into the opening and began your descent further into the darkness. Struggle was an understatement. You felt the walls pushing your breath back into your mouth, feeling the unrelenting pressure of the dirt covering you on every single inch of skin. You could only move your hands and feet, while your legs and torso were pressed flush against the wall, like toothpaste in the tube.

As your hips hit hard against the narrow passage, you tried to force yourself through with your severely limited movement.

With your fucking weapons strapped to your legs and body, this was not going to work. You contorted yourself to try and get a hand down to your hips. Your fingers fumbled in the darkness for a minute before you heard a small click. Your weapons belt that hung loosely around your hips was free.

But the guns at your thighs were in the way and would have to go too.

I better get these back.

You forced your hand painfully down your body, fingers only barely able to touch the clip of your gun holster. You tried and tried to force it down further but it wouldn’t budge.

This wasn’t going to be the end. You were going to do this, find them, and get out a different way. You only had to get through this tunnel.

After minutes your nail hit the clip in the right spot, loosening the holster immediately. After moving your hand over to the other thigh, you managed to get the other one undone in half the time. It hung in place, but loose. With the guns on your side able to move, you have the space to squirm your hips through. As you shimmied further, rocks and roots cutting into your sides, your now loose weapons and straps moved up as you moved down. They clung around your neck and chest as you moved, unable to get past your shoulders.

Feeling with your feet braced on the wall on the way down, you felt the cavern open up, the walls widening, leaving you dangling above an unknown length of space.

Your breathing was contracted by heat and dirt and effort, and you tried to think it through. If there was a large opening or cavern below you, it wouldn’t be that big. You hadn’t seen anything on the map. So again you continued, jaw set painfully hard in determination.

The sound of crumbling dirt and stone was your first clue that this was going to happen fast.

Suddenly the feeling of being constricted finally ended, and immediately relief turned into overwhelming nausea as your body in a split second was falling fast through a wider tunnel.

Quickly you picked up speed, body slamming and bumping and scraping against the sides like this was one big slip-and-slide tube.

As you slid down feet first, you were tossed and slammed against the sides of this slide. Your light was like a strobe light in the dark, being turned on and off, illuminating the sudden curving jutting walls that you couldn’t avoid. The sudden flashes were disorienting and adding to the chaos until the edge of a rock hit your shoulder, liquid warmth erupting as the light broke against your shoulder and neck. In the darkness you tumbled further, not praying you would survive, but praying that this wasn’t the only way out once you hit bottom.

You held your hands and feet out against the wall, trying to brace yourself, groaning with the effort. You had on your fingerless gloves but that was not enough for the sharp stones to shred your fingers on the way down. At some point, the momentum threw you against a dirt barrier before tumbling further.

What felt like years later you finally hit the bottom, skidding to a stop with a hard, dazing knock to your head against the rough, flat ground.

Blinking silent and slow you looked around, trying to take in your surroundings and instinctively scoping for enemies. You tried to get your breathing under control but from either the effort or pain of almost free-falling, it was hard. You stayed low, breathing hard, hand reaching to the gun at your side that was no longer there with bloodied fingers.

Shit.

You were now in a perpendicular large tunnel declining slightly down towards a dimly glowing light source. This hallway was rounded and completely made of dirt and support beams, with tiny lights periodically placed on the walls. Compared to where you just were, this was deliciously open.

So first things first, that was your way out. Secondly, you had literally no weapons on you anymore. Between unhinging some and fall on the way down, they were gone with no sign of them anywhere.

You had the option to either turn left, up the tunnel to what you figured was an exit out, where you could catch your breath, find your team members, or stock up on weapons. Or you could turn right, down deeper into the supposed base where you had assumed Bucky and Steve were, weaponless and bleeding.

If you left now, you were sure there would be no time. You weren’t sure if it was already too late now. The tunnel could go on for kilometres for all you knew. Nothing about this had any degree of certainty to it at all.

So you chose to save your friends.

Quietly you set off down the side of the tunnel wall, weaponless and alone.

_______

This was it. The smell, the look, the feeling… It hadn’t changed in all these years. Wet, green, and dirty concrete lined everything. Large dark metal doors lead the way to room after room, dingy and empty.

You swallowed down where this mentally took you. The past was coming flooding back in the worst way. You had gone in “mission-mode” after leaving the jet, focusing on your actions and not everything that this was bringing back. You tried to keep that focus.

Until you found it.

Silently you peered out around a corner as you silently exhaled. Six Hydra agents, clad in black, standing still and quiet against the wall in the shadows.

You quelled the flash of panic as you realized what this really was. What this really meant.

You were here, in a Hydra base, who knows how far underground, no backup, no one knowing where you were, and no weapons besides your bloody hands to speak of.

All you knew was that they had designed this plan all for you.

This was all to get you here. They wanted you back, and it was like you were running into their fucking arms.

You could wait alone and tied up for thirteen men to kill you in the comfort of the Tower, sure. But walking back into Hydra’s doors was not what you wanted. You hadn’t fully considered what this meant until now.

If they caught you, they would never let you go.

You would be their plaything for the rest of your unending life: frozen until they needed you, drugged until you complied, tortured until you broke. At the end, you had come up with a way to block them for triggering you, but they could wipe you and start again, couldn’t they? Start all over from scratch?

You would be exactly what you were all over again, what they made you. The Siren. The unhinged torturer for Hydra, insane and unstoppable. You would do again everything you had done- torture, kill, drive people mad, ruin countless innocent lives and whole governments.

I’d be their Siren again, you thought with eyes wide and holding your breath.

And there would be nothing that you could do to stop it if they caught you.

You pressed your back flush against the wall as hard as you could, trying to ground yourself in what this actually was about.

This wasn’t about you.

Because if you didn’t keep going, it wouldn’t be you but Bucky falling back in their hands. It wouldn't be you turning into the Siren but Bucky turning into the Winter Soldier instead.

You would’ve failed him. Like you had all of those years. You remembered the question he kept asking you when you first met and how you had failed him then too.

So the choice was run back to Hydra or sacrifice Bucky to them.

Immediately the hair on the back of your neck rose, a shudder running through you. That would never happen while you still had breath to fight. You would never let them take him back.

On that courage of that thought you stood, silently stepping around the corner towards those men.

________

PART EIGHT

________

If you liked this part please let me know somehow! A like or reblog or recommending it or a message! I’d love to know that you’re out there reading this! Thanks loves!

Tags: @seninjakitey @thetimidsarcasticcat @dontpanc @hawkspriing @kanekibooty @elizabeth-rose771 @methefandompanda @bookluver01

[bixshits]

Lost Odyssey - A Thousand Years of Dreams - Story Eight Transcript

They Live in Shells

"Stop this! Please, I beg of you! Let me go!"

A young man's screams echo through the emptiness.

No voice answers him.

Crouching in the darkness, Kaim counts the footsteps. Three men have come in. The disorderly footsteps probably belong to the young man. The other two are perfectly regular.

"Please, I'm begging you. If it's money you want, I'll get you all you could ask for on the outside. I promise. I won't forget to show my thanks to you. Please!"

The only reply of the two men who have brought the young one here is the clunk of an iron lock opening.

"No! No! Please, I'm begging you. I'll do anything you want. Anything!"

A dull thud is the sound of flesh tearing, bone wrenching. Someone collapses on the floor. A strangled scream. The clunk of an iron lock closing.

Kaim knows the young man has been thrown into the shell diagonally opposite his own. When you are locked into one of these windowless shells, your hearing becomes acutely sensitive.

"Don't do this! Let me out of here! Please! Let me out of here!"

From the sound of the voice, Kaim can imagine a young man's face with boyish traces: a small-time hoodlum hardly a step above a teenage gang member. When he was still on the streets, no doubt, he used to swagger down the sidewalk, his cunning but cowardly eyes darting every which way.

The two men who brought him here maintain their silence to the end, their footsteps moving off together. The heavy door opens and closes again.

Left alone in the darkness, the young man howls his entreaties for a time, but when her realizes they will do no good, he shouts himself hoarse, spitting out one curse after another until he begins to sob.

"Quiet down there," an old man calls out from one of the inner shells, "It won't do you any good to make a fuss, Time to give up, sonny."

This is the voice of the oldest man living in the dozen or so shells lined up in the darkness.

He was already here when Kaim was sent to this place. It is always his role to quiet and comfort the obstreperous newcomers.

"If you've got time to bawl like that, keep your eyes closed!"

"Huh?"

"Just make sure you keep sucking on your memories of the outside-like a piece of candy!"

Sounds of suppressed laugher come from the surrounding shells.

Kaim joins in with a smile and a sigh

All the shells in the dark are supposedly full, but few of their inhabitants are laughing.

Most of them have lost the strength to laugh.

"Hey, sonny." the old man continues in his role as adviser to the newcomer, "No point making a fuss. Just calm down and accept your fate. Otherwise..." and here a note of intensity enters the old man's voice, "they'll just drag you out of here feet first."

This is exactly what happened yesterday to the former inhabitant of the young man's shell.

He had been screaming on and off for a day. Then came a day of banging his head against the shell wall. Then nothing... until he was dragged out in silence.

"So get a hold of yourself, sonny. Don't let the darkness swallow you up. Close your eyes and imagine nice scenery from the outside, the bigger the better: the ocean, or the sky, or some huge field of grass. Remember! Imagine! that's the only way to survive this place."

This was the advice he always gave to the newcomers.

But the young man screamed tearfully.

"Who the hell do you think you're kidding? Survive this place? And then what? I know what this place is. 'No exit' prison! They throw the lifers in here, give them just enough food to keep them alive, and in the end they kick the bucket anyway—Am I right? There's nothing left to hope for."

His shouts turn to sobs again.

This is the reaction of most of the newcomers.

Nor are they mistaken. This is a prison. Each of the "shells" is a solitary cell with bars, and the sun shines on a prisoner only on the day of his funeral...

"Everybody dies, sonny, that's for sure. You just cant let your mind go before your body does. Hope doesn't have to fade unless you throw it out yourself," the old man goes on softly.

Then he adds with feeling, "This system we live under can't last much longer, either."

The old man is a political prisoner. As leader of the anti-government faction, he long resisted the dictatorship until he finally lost the struggle and was imprisoned.

The young man has no ears for the old man's words, however, he continues thrashing on the floor and crying.

This fellow won't be in his shell much longer than his predecessor. In a few days, or in less than a month at best, he will go to pieces.

The darkness is that powerful. Depriving a prisoner of light is far crueler than taking his life in an instant.

"My my," the old man reflects, "This fellow's not going to do us much good in a prison break."

The old revolutionary laughs, it might be a genuine laugh of a bold front, but in any case almost no one laughs in response.

Tomorrow morning- or rather, since there is no clear-cut "morning" in the darkness- after they go to sleep, wake up and have their next meal, another cold corpse will be dragged out wordlessly from another shell.

"Hey, listen. How many of us are here now?" the old revolutionary asks. "Answer if you can hear me!"

"I can hear you," Kaim says.

His is the only voice.

"Man, this is bad, we were full up a little while ago."

The old man gives a dry chuckle.

Kaim asks, I wonder if something's happened out there."

"Maybe so," answers the old revolutionary.

"If you ask me, this would be about the right time for a coup d'etat or a revolution."

"My 'boys' aren't going to keep quiet much longer..."

"Uh, what was your name again? Kaim? Have you noticed what's happening? How there used to be a lot more guys getting thrown in here until a little while ago, and most of them real nobodies, not worth sentencing to life?"

"Uh-huh, sure..."

The young man was one of them- nothing but a small-time crook. It just so happened that the storehouse he broke into belonged to a rich man with ties to a powerful politician. this was the only reason they put him in a shell.

"The shells always used to be full. They would throw a bunch of men in here and they would die, then the new men would come, and they would die..."

The young man was one of those, the terror of being enveloped in darkness was too much for him, and he went to pieces. He was apparently having hallucinations at the end: "I'm coming Mama, I'm coming. Wait for me, please, Mama..." he repeated over and over like a child. "Where are you, Mama? Here? Are you here?" and he gouged his own eyes out with his bare hands.

"I figured things were getting scary out there—the cops losing control—so the government was really starting to crack down- which is why these shells were always full."

This is what brought the young man here. Blood streaming from his eye sockets, he died muttering in snatches, "What did I do? Everybody knows damn well... there are plenty of men way worse than me..."

"But now the place is empty. Do you know what that means, Kaim?"

"Sure. There's so much crime out there now that the government can't suppress it."

"You got it; the whole royal family might be strung up by now for all we know. Its a revolution. It will happen any day now! That means you and I will get out of here. My boys will come and get us. Just hang in there a little while longer."

Kaim nods in silence. The old revolutionary goes on, "Your strong, Kaim. Not many guys could stay as calm as you, thrown into a shell and enveloped in darkness like this."

Not even Kaim can explain it. It is true that he was strangely calm when they put him in the shell. The darkness was something he seemed to recognize as a distant memory. In the distant past, he, too, may have tasted the anguish of the other shell inhabitants so tortured by the fear of being sealed in darkness.

"How are you so tough mentally, Kaim? Does it mean you, too, are a revolutionary?"

"No, not me..."

His crime is hardly worth talking about. He resisted somewhat under questioning when they brought him in as a suspect, and for that he was branded a rebel and thrown into a shell. The old man is probably right, though. The country's dictatorship is almost certainly in its last days.

"It won't be long now. We'll be back in the real world before we know it. I have hope right in here, and it will stay here until I abandon it myself," the old revolutionary mutters as if trying to convince himself.

The prison falls soon afterward. Armed young men come charging into the darkness and open the shells' barred doors.

Embraced by his "boys", the old revolutionary goes out.

"Wait," Kaim cries, trying to hold him back.

But he is too late. Anxious to see the new world following the destruction of the old system, the old revolutionary steps outside and opens his eyes.

It is evening.

Though the sun is nearly down, its light is still strong enough to burn eyes accustomed to total darkness.

The old revolutionary presses his hands to his eyes. And with a groan, crumples to his knees.

Kaim has saved himself by shielding his eyes with his arm.

Not even he knows what caused him to do this. Could distant memories have taught him that the truly frightening thing about punishment by darkness is what happens after the release from prison?

When could I have been imprisoned, and where? More important, how long have I been on this endless journey?

With bleeding eyes, surrounded on the ground by his boys, the old revolutionary searches for Kaim.

"I came all this way, Kaim, only to make one terrible mistake at the bitter end. My eyes are probably useless now."

This is precisely why he asks Kaim for one last favor.

"Tell me Kaim, what is the outside world like? Has the revolution succeeded? Are the people happy? Are they smiling joyfully?"

Kaim opens his eyes slowly, and just barely, beneath the shade of his hand.

As far as he can see, the ground is covered in bodies. The corpses of royal troops and revolutionary troops are heaped on one another, and countless civilians are dead. A mother lies dead with her small child in her arms, the bloody corpse of the child's father next to them, arms outstretched in a vain attempt to shield them.

"Tell me what you see, Kaim."

Kaim fights back a sigh and says, "You must work from now on to build a happy society."

The old revolutionary senses the truth.

"I won't abandon hope, Kaim, no matter what."

As if to say, "I know that," Kaim nods and begins to walk away.

"Where are you going?"

"I don't know...someplace."

"Why don't you stay here and build a new world with us? You of all people can do that, I know."

"Thank you, sir, but I'll be moving on just the same."

The old revolutionary does not try anymore to hold Kaim back. Instead, as a parting gift, he repeats for Kaim the words he spoke so often in his shell.

"There will always be hope, wherever you are, until you yourself abandon it. Never forget that!"

Kaim walks on.

His eyes chance to light on the body of a young boy lying at his feet. The boy breathed his last with eyes wide open in fear.

Kaim kneels and gently closes the boy's eyelids.

He knows deep down, in a memory too far away for even him to reach, that while darkness can be a great source of terror, it can also bring deep and lasting peace.

[fiery-assassin-arc]

Adulthood: Battling Demons and Birth, not in that order.

Chapter 22 of Of Shadows and Flames! Hella late, but I did it... at 2:10 in the morning. what the fuck

As usual long as heck.Triggers: birth, gore and blood mention.

Now, on with it!

Snip. Snip. Snip. A gentle whoosh of something hitting the floor. I do it again, the scissors struggling to cut the thick locks of my hair.

I have always contemplated cutting my hair. Even on that unfateful night I had a freaking panic attack. I sometimes tripped, and went through so many bottles of shampoo I just always said 'fuck it' and chose to wet it and have it free. I also used to wear it like a statement: I am powerful enough to knock you to the floor.

Even when I was in his captivity, I sometimes used my hair to be my blanket, to wrap me up when I'm cold there. This cutting of my hair was more than just removing the weight of it, the constant tripping.

My birthday is tomorrow. A new hairstyle would work just fine.

I stare at the fallen pieces of hair on the floor, a red puddle beneath my feet. I let my feet press against it, feeling the soft sensation, then the harsh sharp of it. It needs some serious washing. Once it's all done, I can probably try and find a way to feel like myself again.

When I lift the mirror in front of my face, I see that I have truly changed. My skin is a bit fairer, some light color in my cheeks. My lips are cracked and bloody, but one is a bit purple at the top from me biting it frequently. My eyes are still the same color, with circles underneath them. But there's a difference to the color now.

They parallel the fires of hell.

I take a deep breath, looking at the bruises turning a vague yellow now. I exhale, wanting to rid the imagery of this. How my body had drastically changed. I am getting older.

This is a change now.

“Breakfast!” Hannah calls. “It's pancakes!”

I make my way down the stairs, following T and Jess, who hobbles best as she can. For a while she's had mild false alarms of when the baby may come along. Maybe today is the day she has the baby.

I wish I had her strength at times—to be able to bring a child here in this world, someday. I love children, honestly, but I am terrified of how their lives will change. Possibly being labeled as a freak. Or how I became, now. Someone new imprisoned in this shell of a body. Unable to sever the link between ability and emotion.

I probably wouldn't be a great mother.

“I call the first set cooked!” Jess shouts, waddling over to the chair. Her chestnut hair is swept back into a messy updo, dripping water from a probably recent shower. “I win!”

“No fair,” I laugh, landing in the chair on her right. “You had a head start.”

“When it comes to pancakes”—she wags her finger in my direction, picking up the fork—“there's no stopping me. Baby or no baby.”

I roll my eyes as I look at the flying pancake in the air before it ends up back in the pan. Hannah is behind the stove this time, while Lazur sits with Hayley and drinks a steaming cup. “How did you all sleep?”

“I slept well, thanks.” T says, grabbing a fresh apple and taking a bite. “You know,” he says with a full mouth, “this might be the first time you didn't scream in your sleep, Iris.”

I blink a few times, perplexed. “I—what?”

“Hayley slept good, didn't you, sweetie?” Lazur pipes in, changing the subject. Hayley mashes a piece of pancake around her face.

“I scream in my sleep?” I ask, confused.

“Screamed would be a better tense, but yeah. First week with you, around some time when the moon is high, you scream and thrash around.” T chomps another bite. “It's annoying, but it's better than the rounds some guards take every other month.”

My lips press tight together, playing with the edge of my shirt under the table. I can't believe I screamed, but I did see it coming; it was nightmares and flashbacks. Still the more frequent.

“Jess,” Hannah announces, “are you doing your breathing exercises? The baby will be coming any day now.”

“I have been doing them, yes.” Jess says, rubbing her stomach. “But now I'm hungry for food. Where are the pancakes?”

“They're coming, sheesh. Ms. I Demand Pancakes. Iris, what would you like?”

I raise my hands in surrender. “I heard pancakes.”

Hannah rolls her eyes, going back to adding the batter to the skillet. I detect the hint of maple syrup. It is a delightful smell and reminds me of Nanny Katrina. There's a part of me that wishes she's okay despite the whole fact she may have perished.

By now, I have tasted and embraced the fact they all had died in the attack from those demons. It was a bitter taste, but I swallowed it down like the hard pill it is. I am Alone.

Jess practices her deep breaths, looking over at me. “Baby's kicking, wanna feel 'em?”

I nod, reaching over to put a hand on her belly. At first, I don't feel anything, but a sharp kick comes from the side of my palm. “Whoa! That's a kicker.” And judging by how hard, maybe she is going to have them today.

“Kicking because they're hungry for pancakes.” Jess laughs, making a small noise as another kick makes way. This fascinates me, how the baby just grows until it comes out. Alive, happy. But then in this place . . . it must be scary.

Don't get negative, Iris. I move my hand away, the ghost-like feeling of the baby's kick still on my palm. I look over at T, grinning. “How's it feel, being an uncle soon?” “Weird if you ask me,” T says, right as our food lands on our plates. “I'm either too old or too young for this.”

I watch as steam floats from the pancake, anticipating the melt-in-your-mouth taste. “You're gonna love them.” I say to him. “They'll worship you. Have you decided what you wanna be called?” “Uncle T. Simple. Little tike won't forget it.” T stabs a fork into his pancake and cuts it with his knife. “What about you?”

I pause in lifting the fork to my mouth. What about me? What do I want to be called? But question remains: will I still be here? Will I remain here forever? I don't know if it's a good thing. I have to find a way home; to find (possible) survivors. Rebuild my home; whatever the state it looks now.

“Aunt Iris,” I finally say, stuffing the doughy pancake in my mouth to stop conversation.  Anything to not focus on this. That I will be here forever.

But . . . maybe, this isn't so bad.  Though I am here until I heal, I can probably build my status back to high-power. Talk to the Kahn. Fix my . . . issue that happened months ago. And yet . . . this family, as I observe them, laughing, preparing for the newest addition, I realize I might be happy here.

This can be enough. Hannah puts her hand on my back when she sits, and just like that—I remember how I got here.  It stings like a sunburn, but I breathe out.

We're going out today. I'm anxious because it's my first time in months that I've been out in public. Ever since my escape, I've been in constant fear that Kano is hunting me down. Make it even since I killed Muscles.

I can still recall the feeling of the pipe in my hands, the blood sprinkling on my face like a fresh summer rain. The sounds of gore squelching and spilling on the floor. How he had fear in those dark, muddy hazel eyes.

I hear a light rap on the door, and I cannot stop the grin. “Mommy Hannah?”

“How'd you know it was me, dearie?” “I know that knock anywhere. With T, he slams the door open, Jess knocks five times, and Hayley tries to say my name. Lazur . . . he's hesitant.” I turn to face her, and watch her face change to shock. “What?”

“I just now noticed the pile of hair by your feet. And your hairstyle.” Hannah points out. “You did it by yourself?”

“Yes.” I consciously touch the jagged edge, nervous it's probably horrid. “Do you hate it?”

“No, no.” She shakes her silver wave of hair. “It's very cute. Plus, your hair was long. You look like your age.”

I feel fire ignite in my cheeks, and look away. “You know.”

“I figured as much—you're becoming a woman.” Her voice is soft, ever so motherly. “You're also troubled. Is something the matter?”

“Um—”

“MOM! THE BABY IS COMING!”

It seems our talk will wait. I feel some heat leave Hannah, and she does her best to make it over to Jess's room. I follow her quick pace, shock overcoming my brain. The baby is coming. The baby is coming. Now.

We rush inside Jess's room, where she's kneeling at the bed, hand clutching her stomach. A puddle of red-tinged water sits at her feet. Dark hair is fanned against her naked back, and she has her head buried in a pillow. “Gods, it hurts so much!”  she shrieks, pain lacing her voice.

“Oh man,” I whisper. I have no experience with childbirth, let alone when someone is pregnant. All I hear from my aunts or Mum is that it hurts like hell.

“Iris, go get the water and towels. Now.” Hannah's voice is stern and commanding, and I do as she says. Before I go to her, I yell for Lazur to come help. Surely he knows since he and Hannah probably delivered their children on their own. “Lazur, come help, please!” “What?” “Jess is having the baby now!”

There is silence for two heartbeats, before whispers and footfalls make their way up the steps. Sweat is sticking to his face, and he goes outside to get a bucket of water while I run back to the bedroom.

Hannah is soothing Jess, who is still screaming in complete agony that my heart breaks. I go over to her, whispering in her ear. Time is slowing down, making each second of her labor painful. “Let's get her in bed.” For the second time in months, Hannah sounds like she's underwater. My shock is coming back. I can't have Jess die. She's become a sister to me.

When we lift her in bed, Lazur returns to help Hannah with the delivering process. I decide to hold Jess's hand, not wanting to look down and see the “miracle” that is called childbirth. I've seen enough bloody things for one lifetime.

“Don't worry, Jess.” I reassure her, kissing her forehead. “Soon you will have a beautiful baby in your arms.”

“I-it hurts, Iris. I didn't expect this to hurt this bad.” Jess whimpers, tears leaking from her eyes.

“I know, sweetie, but don't worry.” I give her hand a gentle squeeze, my actions and words hopefully enough. “Just do as what Hannah says, and then it'll be over.”

Jess nods, before letting out a harsh cry. When Hannah says she sees a head, I can only smile at Jess. Soon, a baby is born.

It takes out about five to seven hours, but Jess is now a mother of two twin boys. They have vivid dark hair, with the deepest set of green eyes I've ever seen. Their names are Orion and Slate. Orion has a small birthmark under his chin to differentiate him from his brother. T and Hayley finally see their new additions, smiling and reaching to graze their little fingers.

I keep my distance, standing by the entryway, seeing them enjoy the family. I didn't feel like intruding on them; close as they are to me, I am still a guest in their home. I slip out of the house, taking a seat by the front door, embracing the cold afternoon.

My eyes shut, missing the one face that's invaded my entire mind during my time in Outworld. Her messy brown hair, violet eyes. Fair skin. For a split second, I can almost see her shape in my brain. That soft smile on her lips, her body moving in a pretty circle.

“Iris, you changed.” she says. She sounds like puberty switched on.

“As did you. I . . . I miss you.” My voice is trembling.

“I miss you, too.” Mia whispers, reaching, touching my cheek with a feather-like touch. “When will you come back home?” “I don't know.” I admit. “I've been here for months.”

“I do hope you find a way, soon. I want to see you again.”

“But you're . . .” Saying that word, the inevitable demise of my best friend brings sickness to my stomach. “Mia—”

“Sh,” She presses her forehead against mine. The world is bleeding white. She feels so warm and I can feel her pulse in my hand as I touch her wrist. She feels living. “People like me don't stay dead. I'll see you sometime, when you dream. I'll probably help you, Freckles.”

Freckles. DAMN IT. I'm biting my lip, trying my best not to cry. I want to say more to her, but she puts her arms around me. Her scent is righteous; a memory so invigorating my heart stops. I let myself shatter, embracing her back. I'm releasing ugly sobs, hearing my own screams over the silence of where my brain is.

“I love you.”

“I know, my girl. I know.”

[snowleopard59]

follow that car

It’s a coverup, the whole thing is one big coverup and almost everyone knows it but almost no one wants to admit it. At eight years old he heard on the news that the files related to the JFK assassination would be sealed for 75 years. Why? At eight years old he answered his own question and promptly covered it up within himself as deep and sealed as the files themselves.

Still walking, he ascended a rise in the road which revealed a large sprawling cemetery. The first tombstone had his name on it- the epitaph read – he died unhappy because he didn’t try hard enough. He went to the next- it read - he died unhappy because he tried too hard. And then the next – he was to blame for everything. And then the next - he was not to blame for anything. Rows upon rows of tombstones, all with his name on them.

I couldn’t read anymore. I looked away, and saw not two vultures, but now two crows perched on an iron railing. Wait, this is the cemetery of past lives, that’s the only possible explanation. He came to a section marked- suicides. The first stone read – he thought he was going to get away from it all.  He was wrong.

And then the next – he thought this would help him figure it all out once and for all. He was wrong again. And then the next – if you’re reading this, you’re still alive, so don’t do what I did. Or do, I don’t really care. What? No karma, no suffering depression as penance for committing suicide so many times in his past lives? He walked on, saw more epitaphs – he led an undistinguished life. But he was happy. He was kind. He helped people when he could, but he did nothing to write about in any history book.

And then he was aware a Cadillac El Dorado had slowly pulled up beside him on the narrow asphalt between the tombstones, it’s engine silent as the cemetery grass itself. The car had stopped that day in Dealey Plaza, too, although that part of the film was taken out. You hear what might be a shot and you put the brakes on? Or did he mean to do it? El Dorado; the golden one.

The driver, a dark-haired woman, asked him if he could drive her to Las Vegas. She said she wasn’t feeling well, she tried calling 911 but her cell phone battery was dead.  She sat there briefly like a great blue heron perched on a favorite branch above a favorite fishing spot; silent and surmising the variables.

He said he would be happy to drive her, adding how familiar she looked, and that the last time he’d seen her she’d looked so sad. She just slid into the passenger seat leaned her head back and closed her eyes. She loves me, he thought. He knew it, he felt it, that she loved him, that she really did even though she might not outwardly show it. So many things didn’t show, didn’t seem to make sense, any sense at all apparently.

Like Catholic confession and the JFK files just to name two. Moreover, as he stole glances at her from watching the apparently interminable road stretched out ahead of them to the dusky desert horizon, he knew he loved her he really did. Scott really loved Zelda, Zelda really loved Scott, but they burnt out on their lifestyle.

She loved him he loved her but they were driving this Cadillac down a dangerous road. Never one to not fall prey to the most outlandish mental meanderings he considered that he had been surreptitiously programmed by the CIA rogues, all still alive and well, grandchildren and great grandchildren of the infamous assassins and usurpers of governments in the 50s and 60s and 70s, that when he heard a loud pop he would stop the car.

And when he stopped the car that would allow the shooter a clean shot. That’s what they did to Greer. Like Sirhan, like Ruby, a hypnotic trigger to behave a particular, demonic way. Child’s play for the LSD scientists and behavioral modification experts. But it went deeper than that. Much deeper. He loved her she loved him and what they were doing, despite the outward appearance of apparent suffering, had a point.

All suffering then must have a point. Holocaust suffering had a point Hemingway’s suicide had a point, Zelda insanity and Scott alcoholism had a point. It was to achieve a better result. For me and the woman it was to live out our years without having to work or if we wanted to work to work at something we enjoyed and which made much more money than what we used to work at that we didn’t enjoy.

It was the holy grail, the alchemists stone – you don’t get that at Wal-Mart. It takes suffering apparently. Maybe there’s another way but so far humans have only been able to come up with suffering. Because direct knowing is too much of a shock- well some people can do it but most are fried- and then he remembered waking up from naps and contemplations with the startling energy of an electrical shock.

He would flee from that consciousness; it was too much he was not strong enough how do you get strong enough to withstand the full energy of God to put it a certain way- you suffer- a little or a lot – you can build strength other ways but you have to be able to withstand the energy. And then she told him telepathically that she was the lady of life’s lake.

That the nature of yin and yang, the truth of duality was as the sages of the east and many others knew for eons, was that there is a yielding and a forward motion. Souls incarnate as forward motion male energy and life is yielding feminine energy but they mix and they change and the truth and wisdom of it is to make a dance, a loving dance.

Rumi and the Sufis tuned in to this most poetically of course; to love all life to seek to please it as a seeking to please a lover so that then it seeks to please you back. Eyes still closed, she just smiled. They both knew the, they both knew when they got in the car together that afternoon.

Don’t put the brakes on! Speed up, speed up dammit! He heard himself say, in a dream. And he was in the car, and he felt the pain of the bullet and knew the driver had slowed down, to a stop even, so as to assure the shooter the kill shot. But there were still a few seconds left. But nobody’s going to save us now he thought.

May as well start carving that tombstone now. Checkmate is checkmate, that’s just how it is. For now. She woke up, she knew he wouldn’t stop the car until they got there. Well, maybe to pee. It would be ok to pee in the desert. The desert would appreciate it probably.

But she wouldn’t have to try to jump out of the car this time. Better to run away and live to fight another day. Demosthenes, 338 B.C. Oh well those Greek philosophers had an answer for everything didn’t they? No, they didn’t, they were stumbling around like we all have been forever, only occasionally tripping across a jewel. A particularly luminous seashell on our stoned walks on the beach.

We pick it up, feel it, look at it, sense it, maybe smell it, but mostly, know it. This is it, our shell, our special shell. We put it in our pocket and walk on, walk home, to our studio apartment maybe, put it on a shelf or in a drawer and forget about it. But now, he remembered the seashell in the drawer. It was shaped somewhat like a classic 1955 El Dorado Cadillac.

He knew who he was, he knew who she was, he knew why they were in the Cadillac and where they were going. He didn’t know how he knew only that he knew. This was going to take some getting used to, because most people could not be told these things he knew now. Socrates, remember? It wasn’t that he thought that highly of himself, just that he wanted to stay alive awhile longer, especially if it might be with her.

Yes, she’s married but she might not be later. Or maybe they could just be friends he thought. He knew she was well-read; literature, history, philosophy. She probably could change the oil in the Caddy as well if she had to, which she never would. Because of course, she was also rich.

But since that day she had been skeptical about letting other people drive her. Ok maybe they won’t shoot you but they stop the car at the worst moment. They’d both seen the original, unaltered film. The car comes to a complete and total stop. The car and the country.

The fact that she let him drive her was an awesome display of trust in his ability to protect her. If she needed protecting, which she didn’t now, but it was a good feeling, a warm gesture after so many disappointments. The sun was coming up, they were approaching Las Vegas. Of all places. They should have just called it El Dorado, the lost city of gold, or city of lost gold.

It all depended on your definition of gold, and lost, and found. Are we really locked into pay as you go spiritual growth or lack thereof as he, and so many others had been taught? You’re sworn to secrecy, because, again, Socrates, Galileo, JFK, well you know the list.

But you go ahead, shout it from the rooftops if you want, and then, after they drag you down and William Wallace you, or Joan of Arc, or, well you know the list. Then you can come back and not get in the car if you don’t want to, but sooner or later, something will get you, if only your own reliance on prescription meds.

Sir Henry Neville could write Othello and all the rest today without fear or trembling of being imprisoned in the tower of London. He would have to contend with the tower of Babel still. No need to waste money on a ghost nom de plume pseudonym Shakespeare that would go on through centuries to come as the imprimatur of great literature.

No matter, Sir Henry knows who wrote what. They crossed the city limits, and then were in town. He pulled the car up to a decrepit dilapidating motel called the Blue Angel. They parked, got out, went into room five. A 20-year-old man was there crying on the bed.

The room glowed with warm, soothing Himalayan salt lamp light. How could such a room, in such a place and time, for such a sad young man, glow? Sufis again – when the heart weeps for what it has lost the spirit laughs for what it has found.

She took out her phone and showed him the most recent text from her husband. It simply said all is well. When did she charge the battery he wondered? And then he knew. And then she went into the bathroom and came out with a warm washcloth which she placed on the young man’s forehead.

He breathed deeply, relaxed, and fell asleep. Their work here was done. They went back out to the parking lot and got in the car again. The young man was the young him, of course, broke and depressed in Las Vegas without a fake i.d.

Creating one had been a waste of time. No one asked him for his i.d. They were happy to take his meager earnings at 20 years old as they would be at 21 and beyond. Days later, bleary eyed from exhaustion and weeping in some end of the world place like Tonopah or Winnemucca, however…

Playing nickel slots in the bus station, an ancient security guard asked him for i.d. Heart still weeping, spirit at that point couldn’t help but laugh. But now, he was with her and they were at Caesar’s. She had reluctantly agreed but insisted on choosing the game.

Fine. Roulette. A little illusion of European elegance in this corporate rodeo borne of mobster roots and rootless mobs. Here, no clocks, ultra-oxygenated air, and a wildly changing assortment of other psychotropic influences, they would put it all on one roulette number.

Lose. Of course. 38 to 1 odds, c’mon! Except of course right now in this cosmic non-duality state of mind and being they couldn’t pick the wrong number, just couldn’t. They picked 17. 17 came up.  She gave it all to the roulette dealer.

A middle-aged woman whose credit card debt was almost the exact amount of the payoff and who needed to see a doctor about her bipolar condition but had no medical coverage. Back to the Cadillac. And the winding road out of town to a place called the Mt. Charleston lodge.

They were late; no, they were right on time, for a wedding. The crowd was already gathering. He didn’t really like crowds but this one was different, this one would help not hurt. He hoped Elvis would be officiating; real Elvis not some faux Vegas Elvis impersonator.

Real Elvis had a spiritual side that got lost rather quickly. And then found. There he was. Real? Real enough to officiate this wedding. They stood in the back, and then were called to the front as the witnesses. They knew the couple being married and they knew how much in love they were. And they knew, like Elvis, there would be some rough edges to smooth out.

But if Elvis could do it, and, obviously, he had. He stood there, young, slender, strong, vibrant, the sound simply surging from him even as all in the crowd and wedding party were silent, sensing the ceremony soon to begin. Best wedding I’ve ever been to, he thought.

I ought to know, she thought. And then he saw the man from the all the films and photographs walk up to her, and they were together again. Resplendent as usual in his blue suit, a man not just for all seasons and all countries but all times.

That’s why he was there. He was her bodyguard for the short trip. He helped her drive, she helped him know. Helped him know about the coverup, about why he knew there was one, and why, once he knew just how absolute it was, he knew what to do, and what not to do about it. He stayed behind now with the rest of the wedding party, including preacher Elvis, and watched them walk away together.